Emir's C:KND Collection
by Nonamenonamenonameplease
Summary: Interesting chronicles of incidents occurring in between actual episodes, including a brief segment detailing a pair caught in between sides. Plus, an alternate ending for the heroes and their young love lives. Enjoy.
1. Operation: GALLIMAUFRY

Note: Nothing written here or in the following stories/chapters involves anything premiering after DOGHOUSE or crossovers. Keep in mind that this first story takes place sometime after NO-POWUH and shortly after TURNIP and long before FOODFITE, meaning Gramma Stuffum doesn't yet consider it a good idea to let her creations eat children instead of vice versa.

**G**ingery  
**A**massed  
**L**unch  
**L**avishly  
**I**nveterate  
**M**oment  
**A**nd  
**U**nexpected  
**F**rustrated  
**R**evengeful  
**Y**earnings

Dawn's first rays of sunlight licked along the sidewalks on up the walls and roofs to every neighborhood structure. Birds began chirping, squirrels chattering, and a cool breeze rattled the dew-encrusted grass. Some heads stirred out of bed ready to restart, some remained snoozing, and others had woken up beforehand. Abigail Lincoln a.k.a. #5 of the Kids Next Door was amongst those in the third category, sitting in her favorite seat inside that huge treehouse overshadowing all other suburban dwellings and reading a child-based digest. She'd eaten breakfast a long while ago alongside other morning preparations. The room still slightly reeked of those nasty turnips from yesterday's fight despite the opened window providing fresh air. What a situation. Nobody yet knew what hefty ocean hazards befell that giant one; thank goodness the group had today off.

But neither the smell nor the previous mission bothered #5 at present. No, awake snoops might realize the feeling ran deeper had they studied her expression (to say nothing of the hat covering her eyes). Something indeed bothered the girl enough to wake up extra early while her teammates continued snoozing. Somebody utter wrong words? Perhaps recent missions, like maybe Stickybeard's offer to join his crew or Gramma Stuffum's mealtime bombardment, played a role? Or did the guilty source originate even farther back? Whatever the case, #5 discovered minutes later that she could no longer focus on her reading material. Fiddlesticks, she thought. So she closed the digest, switched off the light, and departed the treehouse for a (hopefully) peaceful stroll.

Cool air complementing the welcome sunlight certainly worked wonders on most occasions. #5 could almost relate to any archosaur having a dorsal sail just as long as villains didn't ruin it too soon. Because, despite the bliss, her clandestine problem required more than solitary time recollecting personal thoughts. It was at the next moment that the girl strode before her own house and paused to stare and think. Now what? Continue on, or step inside? The second choice predictably won out as a shrugging #5 decided why not. Shaking a locked door saw her withdraw a pocketed house key, and #5 stepped inside.

"Hello?" she called, "Anybody home?" No answer told the girl everybody else must've already left, so she shrugged again and went straight for the kitchen. "Oh well. Time ta cook." #5 withdrew a 3-ring binder full of recipes to skim through, reaching one particularly interesting delicacy seven pages after the middle. "Ooh, gallimaufry. Sounds promisin'." #5 set the binder down on the counter still at that page and, with another quick skim of the ingredients, inspected the cupboards and refrigerator. She'd located some verjuice; butter; white ground ginger; cold, precooked chicken; salt; and necessary utensils easily. Onion powder got substituted for actual onions.

Within the next half-hour or so, #5 chopped up the chicken in a small dish of onion powder before stewing it with the other ingredients as the recipe went. Doing thus occupied her time so much that she'd for the time being forgotten the source of her anxiety. Come the third half-hour, #5 eagerly and patiently watched the boiling pot on the stove not letting a single detail out of sight. Nothing other than stares or occasional stirring of the spicy concoction outlined the session. That is, until #3 strode in. "Hey, #5!"

The older girl jolted. "Oh, it's you. #3. Ever hear of knocking?"

"The door was open. I thought you might be at your home-sweet-home." #3 took a whiff of the air. "Ooh, something sure smells good in here! What is it?"

"A little somethin' called gallimaufry."

"Galli-whatsie?"

"Gal-uh-mow-free. I's a special meat stew from medieval days, usually made wit' chicken or mutton. Mutton is sheep meat, by da way. Wanna sample?" (A/N: The 'mow' portion is pronounced the same as 'wow'.)

"Mmm! Okay!" #5 handed #3 a spoonful to sample away. Shortly afterward, a dropped empty spoon saw the younger girl's eyes water as she fanned her tongue like crazy and hyperventilated.

"So, did #5 put enough ginger in it?"

"Are you joking? My tongue feels like one hundred hot coals are dancing with hot pads on their feet at a party hosted by the sun and another one hundred are bathing in lava flows while juggling steaming water bottles!"

#5 appeared satisfied. "Ah, almost done."

#3 grabbed her friend's shoulders and leaned up close. "Is dat all you can say? I need some water!"

The older girl brushed away her friend's grip. "Water'll only make it worse, girl. There's some milk in the fridge." An audacious #3 zipped to the refrigerator, took out one of the unused jugs, opened it, and drank half straight out. Then she put the jug back.

"Wow, dat's some dangerous stuff. How many alarms didja put in it?"

"Same as my codename." That's when the boys entered the kitchen. "Didn't you ever hear of knockin'?"

"Everything okay?" #4 asked, ignoring the last question, "We heard a scream." Then they too whiffed the air.

"And while yer at it, couldja tell us what that delicious smell is?" #2 added.

"It's her galli-…uh, galli-…" #3 answered, "Er, special chicken stew. It has five alarms in it, 'cause she's #5."

"Gallimaufry," #5 repeated, turning off the stove, "So, what brings da party ta my pad?"

"You left the treehouse without leaving a notice as to your whereabouts," #1 answered, "#3 was the first to guess you might've gone home, and it's clear she guessed right."

At that, the oldest operative's thoughts temporarily returned to her earlier vexation, but she replied in a way to neither alarm her friends nor unveil too much. "Yeah, you could say #5's had a lotta stuff on her mind lately. Nothin' ta worry about fer now, really. Cookin' this gallimaufry's taken a burden off her shoulders."

"Not to worry," #2 assured, "You can talk about it to the rest of us when yer ready. In the meantime, mind if we sample?"

"Go ahead. Just be sure ta drink milk 'cause water'll just make yer tongues burn worse." #3 picked up her own spoon and deposited it in the sink while the male operatives went through the previous scorching process. Of course, their tongues and throats required less emulsion-based relief; three more gulps from that same jug gave it a one-way trip to the wastebasket. The younger girl then had those dropped spoons join hers.

"Whoo-ee!" #4 declared, "That stuff should be locked up!"

"I'm sure it'll be a big hit at this picnic today," #2 said.

"I'm glad ya like it, gentlemen," #5 said, doing a double take the next second, "Picnic?"

"That's right," #1 explained, "During our search, we heard some other kids talking about a little community picnic in the park. Why, didn't you hear?"

"Nope. But sure, I'll attend. Think it'll be a big hit amongst da crowd?"

"Outlook good!" the others exclaimed.

Naturally, however, not all enjoyed the wonderful day. The Delightful Children From Down The Lane again had their mansion-based task of occupying themselves with yet another guest itching to strike a bargain. And who should it be but Gramma Stuffum once again. "You have much bravado showing your face around here after turning on us the last time. Perhaps we should just emit you from our abode right this second." The eerie quintet knew annoyance despite restrained attitudes. Gramma Stuffum was due to assault them before getting her chance at the KND. The DCFDTL wouldn't forgive her for quite a long time; they'd even rather accept one more meeting with the Toilenator, who must've been a pretty huge idiot according to the last rejection. Revenge against the old lady was due any day now.

"You don't understand," Gramma Stuffum protested, "We need to pool resources and work together. I can only do this if you cooperate."

"What do you require us for? Are both our parties not doing fine already?"

"Neither of us do well on own. Think about situation: With your fancy technology and my adorable little foodstuffs, we can't fail. We need each other."

The Delightful Children glanced to the sides contemplating the situation, reaching a conclusion seconds later. "So it seems. Fortunately for you, we happen to be stuck for inspiration ourselves, and you really are one of the more promising revolutionaries. Very well. We will accept the conglomeration on the condition you do not ensnare us like that again."

"Humph. And you call yourselves good children. Good children do what adult tell."

"Normally, yes. But after your previous application, we've had to make exceptions. We do not wish to share of that."

"Fine by me, I suppose. As long as it means plan goes accordingly."

"Good. Now, what did you have in mind?"

"Moving up in world. I have been thinking about strategy, and I realize my creations can only reach small group of childrens. What I need to do is make something that will feed millions within 20-mile radius. Gallimaufry monster, if you will."

"Galli-what?"

"Gallimaufry. Special medieval stew made with chicken or mutton. Mm, mm." Gramma Stuffum withdrew a blueprint paper from her pocket to set on the studious quintet's desk. The drawing was a huge, flat dollop boasting angry eyes; a wiggle-shaped frown; and wing-shaped arms with three indistinguishable fingers. "This is plan for monster. Looks like deflated air balloon but must not be underestimated. She will be able to launch self into children's mouths and make fat."

"Very impressive, Gramma Stuffum. Anything else?"

"Yes. Monster is quicker than you might think. Since living things need heat to move, monster is powered by heat of spices put into physique."

"Does she have a name?"

Gramma Stuffum thought for a moment. "I shall call her Stewpan." The DCFDTL rolled their eyes but said nothing as the senior citizen put away the blueprint. "Let the cooking commence."

"May we suggest something first?" Gramma Stuffum listened intently. "Rather than stuff naughty children like plastic grocery bags, why don't we instead have her eat them?"

The old lady jolted. "What? Food that eats people? I never heard of such thing!"

"If that's the case, you've obviously never seen our one ice cream monster. It did wonders until that little nuisance turned on the heaters. Then again, she can share the blame with whoever installed those heaters in the first place."

"You childrens are crazy. Food was invented not to eat others but to be eaten."

"But you'd be surprised at the results. This gallimaufry thing seems much tougher."

"'Stewpan eat kids instead of other way around.' No indeed, we do it my way. Shall we start?"

"If that's the way you desire it. Follow us."

And the DCFDTL led their guest down two or three hallways and into a laboratory. Not a word left anyone's mouths until Gramma Stuffum's eyes met the facility. Various inventions – mostly weaponry – covered a rectangular, perpetual countertop (save for one gap marking the entrance and another directly across) running along the walls. Empty and full beakers alike covered an island. The back gap presented an empty tiled space containing a pit and some door no doubt leading to either a garage or some other room. "Wow. This place is remarkable."

"And there is the cauldron you may require." The snooty kids motioned toward the pit.

"This is perfect cauldron!" A whistling from Gramma Stuffum signaled anthropomorphic foods to carry in the ingredients – butter; salt; ground white ginger; a mixture of finely chopped chicken, mutton, and onions; and verjuice – into the pit. It all plopped and made a messy pile. "This requires more ingredients. You nice childrens manage mixture while I go to store, if you please?"

"By all means. You can rely on us."

"Thanks for assurance." Once Gramma Stuffum and her lackeys departed, the DCFDTL flipped a lever to activate heaters built within the pit's sides for cooking the stew. The short blond boy then grabbed a beaker full of green liquid and stood vigil over the pit as always alongside the other four.

Thoughts again returned to that one day the old woman crashed in from a half-successful rampage. Like their rivals the KND, the snooty kids never thought they'd reacquire their natural bodily figures. They'd never forget that day yet, for they must've eaten twice as much as the rebellious group. Eyes focused on two major components: beaker of green liquid…boiling stew…hmm… "To pour, or not to pour?" the quintet wondered. In seconds, they knew the opportunity was too good to pass up: The moment for revenge had arrived. "Pour." In went the green liquid, expanding the concoction to fill one-sixteenth of the pit. All smirked while the empty beaker got set back on the nearest countertop surface.

Speaking of which, the KND of course remained completely oblivious to the malicious occurrences. Transporting a huge kettle of #5's gallimaufry required muscle characteristic of a special automated transport resembling a small toy wagon. "Got the stuff ready?" #2 inquired.

"Ready and willing, baby!" #5 replied, setting the kettle down on the transport.

"Baby?" #3 wondered, "Where?"

"That's a figure o' speech, girlfriend."

"But we can't be together. We're both girls."

"Another figure o' speech," #4 said, "You sure don't get out much, do ya?" Special jets defied the kettle's weight, and airtight seals prevented spills and kept the stew warm. Moreover, a special lever had been installed to convert the transport into a table. Its departure gave the team some extra time.

"That was fun," #1 commented, "What next?"

#5 strolled back into her house with the others curiously ogling and then following. All became clear when the entire team stood inside the kitchen once more: The quiet operative may as well have satisfied adults in general via cleaning up her own mess. Still, although they might not admit it, the group shared more in common with members of those whom they fought against than realized. "Better safe than sorry?" #2 guessed.

"Uh huh," #5 answered, "It ain't in her or her friends' job descriptions, but #5's feelin' kinda nice today. Besides, the picnic's not due fer another few hours; this'll help kill time."

"Kill time?" #3 said, hands on hips and looking angry, "That's not nice!"

"And that's a dumb sentence," #4 retorted.

"Never mind that," #1 said, holding up a hand to prevent an argument, "#5, do you need any help? I'm not much for this kind of thing, but…"

"Go ahead," a shrugging #5 picked up, "Though, there's not much mess ta go around."

"That's okay," #2 said, "We ain't got anything else better to do besides purchase a few items for the picnic. After friends help a friend, of course." And they did.

Several hours passed until Gramma Stuffum returned to the DC's mansion, although her empty arms didn't hint her efforts. "I am back from store!"

"That's just swell, Gramma Stuffum."

Said woman peered down at the concoction, which now filled a quarter of the pit. "I am amazed. Stew has expanded in few hours. That would normally take few days."

"Our own special preparations. And we kept it to a boil, just as we thought you might like it."

Ever eager to carry out some action, Gramma Stuffum never noticed the group's repeated smirks. "That just fine. Soldiers! Pour ingredients in cauldron immediately!"

"We're on it!" Liver saluted, and the same live foods obeyed their creator's command. One cuisine-based torrent after another had the gallimaufry near spillage. Once the edible soldiers left again (this time permanently), Gramma Stuffum took the plan further by withdrawing and expanding a compact rod out of another pocket and, well, stirred. The DC's eyes temporarily followed the circular motions which made them a tad dizzy.

"It looks ready," the DC commented a minute later. The stew's thickness and dull beige value confirmed the observation.

"It is ready," Gramma Stuffum put in, "Extra-thick and packed with all good and nutritious stuff. Now for final touch." In response, the DC flipped a second lever which in turn unleashed electric streams to vivify the gallimaufry. Angry yellow eyes; ripples; bubbles; slight further spillage; and fluid grunts clearly told how much the monster wanted a fight. Onion bits gave her a unique confetti design. The DC shared a third smirk with Gramma Stuffum.

To say nothing of a nice stroll following the purchase of foam cups, plastic spoons, and paper napkins, the KND couldn't stop talking about the picnic. "Have we got everything?" #1 wondered as they stood outside the store.

"Cups, spoons, stew, napkins…" #5 recited, "The works. We're ready."

"And don't forget my exploding milk capsule," #2 said, patting his pocket on said item.

"Then let's go!" #3 said, which they did. Conversation resumed within eleven steps. No one suspected the DCFDTL hiding in an alleyway four blocks down, watching the approaching good group using a small mirror. "What kinda games you think they gonna have there?"

"You got me," #4 answered, "I'll go fer just about anything. That's 'anything', not 'everything'."

"Ain't they da same?" #3 wondered.

"No, #3," #1 explained, "'Everything' means all things while 'anything' just means most things. As in, #4 is open to most but not all game ideas."

"Right," #4 confirmed, "Say, #2. What's with the milk pill anyhow?"

"That's milk capsule," #5 corrected.

"Pill, capsule, same thing to me. What's with it?"

"Just a little something I thought might come in handy," #2 answered, "You know, like a new type of smokescreen or other."

"Yeah, but how's milk gonna help us during a mission?"

"Well, it's a much cleaner type of smokescreen. The others smell bad and…you know. I sure hope today's perfect." Just one block remained standing between both rival groups. "We don't get enough of those anymore." Those two sentences and the good group's entrance to the next block signified the DC's moment to pop out and interrupt the procession.

"Whoever said life is perfect, Hoagie?"

The KND stared caring a lot less. "Oh, it's just you," #5 said, "Beat it, Delightful Stupidheads, we ain't got time to waste wit' da likes o' you." Continuing on proved easier said than done according to how the DC blocked the KND's path no matter how many steps left or right they took.

"That's it," #4 decided, tossing aside his carried share of supplies and pounding his fists together, "Maybe you knuckleheads would like a good knuckle sandwich."

"Why don't we just turn around and go to the picnic another way?" #3 suggested.

Unfortunately, a glance back revealed Gramma Stuffum blocking the opposite way. "Leaving so soon?" the ogre crooned.

"You again," #1 said, also tossing supplies aside and withdrawing his trusty S.P.L.A.N.K.E.R. #2, #3, and #5 joined in tossing all except the capsule, and they and #4 all took out weapons as well. Quiet one and toughie faced the DC while the others focused on Gramma Stuffum. "We must warn you, we're prepared this time." The team leader should know since they'd long since updated their weaponry to work without extension cords.

"What's dat?" #3 wondered, glancing to the right. All eleven heads facing that direction, the KND found themselves confused by the puddle-shaped mutant stew.

"Whoa, what indeed?" #5 declared, sniffing the air, "It smells like…gallimaufry?"

"Her name is Stewpan," the DC explained, "Isn't she outstanding?"

"Stewpan?" #2 joked, "Kinda sounds like 'stupid'. Say, why not replace the 'pan' part with P-I-D-D? Then it'll make more sense. Okay, forget the extra 'D'."

Gramma Stuffum and the other KND shook their heads whereas the DCFDTL rolled their eyes. However, Stewpan expressed a temper tantrum via extending a tentacle with a tiny sharp-toothed mouth on the end, got it up in #2's face, and unleashed a huge roar despite the head's size before retracting the limb. Such also snapped the human villains back to reality. "Oh, I forgot to mention," Gramma Stuffum said, "Stewpan has bit of temper problem. Bad jokes make Stewpan extra-angry. Stewpan! Soften up Kids Next Door!"

Stewpan bubbled in acknowledgement and charged at the group while Gramma Stuffum and the DC stood back to watch. The monster seemed rather docile at first, taking all sorts of hits much as a punching bag. Kicks, punches, blasts, slams, chops, and head butts made a messy scene. Glop after glop of stew flew across the pavement and concrete, attracting stray dogs and cats. Stewpan took it all without a care until several moments later, when she decided enough was enough. That's when mound-shaped extensions lashed out at her attackers in the manner of boxing. #1 and #5 balanced between dodging and counterattacking. #3 specialized mostly in the dodging. #4 naturally focused on his offense more than his defense. And for every bite #2 took out of her, Stewpan regenerated herself with ease. Of course, each operative sooner or later got an accidental swipe across the mouth and therefore had his or her own literal taste. "Mm," #5 commented, "Dis is da same recipe **I** used. Except for da mutton and onion bits."

"Pa-tooey!" #4 complained, sputtering up onion chunks, "I hate onions!" Stewpan soon quit letting all except #2 taste her and continued her last assigned orders. Try as they might, the KND couldn't bring down the rogue puddle. Back on the outskirts, at least half a block away, Gramma Stuffum deemed their fatigue appropriate for turning the tables.

"They cannot continue resistance much longer. Time to bring out big guns!"

Right about now, the DC knew exposed treachery didn't matter anymore; that was their plan from the start. "The honor is yours, Stuffum." And the lady smirked in acknowledgement.

"Stewpan! Stuff bellies!"

Instead, Stewpan shocked the old woman by latching more tentacles onto the heroes' various limbs and dragging them down slowly like quicksand. "What the?" #1 exclaimed, promptly blasting away the limbs wrapped around his ankles.

"Let go of my hands!" a struggling #3 demanded. #2 tried chomping on a limb but only pained his teeth, as the monster had somehow unveiled a hidden exoskeletal resistance. Both operatives then fully blasted away each other's bonds. "Thanks, #2!"

"My pleasure."

Of course, two overwhelming mounds of stew which practically swallowed the top halves of their bodies – leaving nothing besides flailing arms and legs sticking out – made the victory short-lived. Plus, Stewpan's physique by now also covered #4's top half, #5's bottom half, and some of #1's left side. "Ungh!" #4 grunted, albeit partially muffled, "If you don't get yer cruddy hands or whatever they are off me this instant, I'll whack you so hard you'll land in New Zealand, using a redwood as my club!"

"You and me both," #5 muttered, still blasting away. Stewpan probably could've swallowed them a lot quicker if she wanted to; maybe the blasts and overall struggling slowed the process. Either way, the monster's actions puzzled Gramma Stuffum.

"How many marbles is Stewpan's head missing? Or do too many onions clog ears? I specifically tell her to stuff into children's mouths, not use Kids Next Door as lollipops."

"Good question," the DC muttered, rolling their eyes again, "Perhaps you got the recipe wrong?"

Somehow, the KND managed breaking free and so ran back the way they came while opening fire upon Stewpan, who pursued bouncing across the ground like a serpentine rubber ball. A confused Gramma Stuffum followed in a walk with the sneaky DCFDTL trailing. "I'm inclined to announce that we can't beat this thing at the rate we're going!" #1 called, "Let's get back to the treehouse!" At that point, #5 noticed #2's milk capsule fall out of his pocket and so paused to pick it up. She didn't stow it in her own pocket until Stewpan's abrupt plop made the operative continue running, nearly getting her foot stuck again. The monster chased the operatives around the district, signifying loss of exoskeletal defense through unintentional splattering. Human and beast alike got a taste: Some smacked their happy lips whereas others spat the stuff back out.

What of the capsule? Halfway near the treehouse, #5 recalled that #2 earlier said he'd made it as a milk-based smokescreen. Could it provide a sufficient enough distraction? Then, a rather unorthodox idea filled her head: Recalling also the others' hot tongues from her gallimaufry, #5 arrived at a conclusion. However, putting it in action would take more time according to a screech.

"#2!" #3 cried. All stopped to look behind; Stewpan had caught up and blanketed on the group pilot.

"You unhand him this instant!" #1 demanded. He opened fire alongside #3 and #4 and took care not to hurt their fellow operative, only to have the monster lap them up as well. #5 put a little more distance between herself and Stewpan before withdrawing the capsule and winding up her arm like a baseball pitcher, a move that might've worked had the opposition not been quicker.

"Oop!" A simple latching upon her legs all over again brought #5 falling flat on her belly and dropping the capsule. #5 resisted against the tugging as she reached for the capsule, encouraging Stewpan to instead slither towards her. But it only lasted several seconds before the direction of momentum shifted a second time. The operative narrowly grabbed the capsule. "Hey, Stewpan! Feelin' hungry?" Amongst internal struggling courtesy of the other operatives, Stewpan's ignorance toward #5's taunt must've hinted that the former suspected a trick. The human female's fingers ran across the object searching for activation means as her body sunk into the beige mass.

By the time only her one arm stuck out, her finger clicked on a microscopic button. Tiny helicopter propellers popped out through the capsule's top side and whirred, having the entire thing depart the human hand before it got swallowed up. Neither a feasting Stewpan nor Gramma Stuffum nor the DC (the last two of which kept quite a distance) minded the capsule hovering directly above the monster. As if on cue, three seconds passed before that capsule exploded into a falling dust cloud that ran all over Stewpan's physique, thereby catching the human villains' attention first (and therefore spreading more confusion). Stewpan's eyes widened as she felt a painful, degrading sensation: Her genetic structure clumped up, and she shrunk down two sizes. A resistant blanket disturbed only by jiggling lumps striving for freedom preceded torn holes with human limbs and heads sticking out. "Finally!" #2 declared, "Air as fresh as it gets! I can breathe again!"

"Me too, me too!" #3 agreed.

#2 sniffed the air, picking up a blended scent of milk and gallimaufry. "My milk capsule! It worked!" He checked his one pocket but found no trace. "Umm…"

"You dropped it," #5 informed, "Don' worry; **I** got it workin'."

#2 shrugged and then playfully teased #4. "And you questioned its usefulness. Was there really any doubt in your mind, #4?"

"Okay, okay. So it worked." The second oldest regained composure. "Anyway, now's our chance! Let's finish the rest o' this cruddy hill!"

"I'm not used to taking commands, being the leader and all, but I agree!" #1 said, "Pound this pile down!" Stewpan now looked worried. The KND unleashed further pent-up energy via physical blows – splattering more bits of stew everywhere – before the monster's weakened grip let them slip free. Such a merciless continued assault created quite a messy scene, touching everyone except the human villains. Gramma Stuffum's jaw hung though she wasn't shocked enough to dodge oncoming projectiles. The satisfied DC correctly decided it best to leave unnoticed, and they did.

"Take this!" #4 yelled between blows, "And this! And that! Try an' swallow me an' my friends, will ya? You're goin' down, KND-style!"

"Recede!" #1 commanded, and the operatives stood slightly back, continually surrounding Stewpan. By now, the poor creature much resembled a flat tire but was regenerating millimeter by millimeter.

"Sheesh," one close adult bystander noted, "Don't you think you beat that thing too much?" The kids' stern faces sent her (the bystander) wisely backing away. "I was just asking."

"Whadda we gonna do with her?" a fond #3 asked, "Can we keep her? Oh please? Pretty please?"

"No way!" #4 disagreed, "We ain't keepin' that pile o'…o'…crud!"

"Exactly," #1 decided. He and the others picked up their weapons and took aim. "Remember, team: We must make a clean sweep here. Can't afford to leave the slightest trace. Open fire!" One last splattering of the main source reduced Stewpan to an evaporated crust followed by cinders. But nothing was safe after the KND licked their mouths, fingers, and arms clean. Their sweeping path extended quite a distance, their lasers charring all remaining stew chunks. For living beings, water from hydrants was sprayed clear above all heads for a not-so-painful rain effect. Water intermingled with cuisine and drained harmlessly into the sewers. Only Gramma Stuffum – frozen in place still due to shock – or those where Stewpan hadn't pursued the good group required no hot showers or changes of clothing.

Actually, the KND also required purchases of more disposable dining equipment. The napkins and such had remained untouched throughout the day until the sprayed water touched down. "Figures," #2 commented while dumping the last soggy grocery bag, "What a waste of good money."

"It's okay," #1 said, "Believe me, it might've been worse. Now let's get back to the treehouse and change out of these stinky clothes." The group noticed Gramma Stuffum a distance away still staring blankly at them, so #5 cupped her hands over her mouth to give the senior citizens one last remark.

"Hey, Granny! Gotta hand it to ya: That was a pretty good try! #5'll be sure to share the credit with ya at the picnic!" The group giggled a tad before leaving her to hold the bag. Every other soaked individual found it best following suit.

It wasn't until the colorful quintet was out of sight that Gramma Stuffum found the strength to speak again. Fists balled up and shaking, she glanced about searching for the DC. "Where are they? Where are Delightful Brats?" Realization of betrayal wrote itself all over her face. Who did the bad group think they were, pulling such a stunt? Gramma Stuffum strolled around the district searching them out in vain. Eventually, she stopped at the wall of a convenience store to pound her fists on all the while talking to herself out loud. "Pampered brats change plan and spoil everything! Oh, I cannot work like this! I cannot work with anyone! That is reason why I don't win!"

"Are you feeling okay, lady?" another adult bystander asked.

Gramma Stuffum paused her tantrum to berate him. "Do I look or sound okay? If so, I would not be pounding wall like this! Now leave me be!"

"Okay, okay," the bystander stammered, departing, "Criminy. Everybody's mad today."

The senior citizen stood on by the sidewalk edge, watching the water-stew mix flow and ignoring passersby. She should've seen it coming; she should've known better than to request help from those she'd previously turned on. But hey, children were children. Still, whatever they included in Stewpan's makeup was a stroke of genius despite today's multiple failures. The draining rivulets now neared thinness characteristic of a toothpick. That's when inspiration struck here. "Oh." Gramma Stuffum made sure nobody saw a thing, knelt down, took out a small glass container, opened it, and scooped up a water sample. Liquid filled all but one-fourth of the container before she closed it, stood back up, and the rivulets slowed to a snail's pace. Gramma Stuffum forgot her malady as she admired the sample with a conclusive murmur. "It's true: Tomorrow is new day." Carefully putting it back in one pocket, the senior citizen headed on home feeling satisfied.

No question hovered about the enjoyment of those in the park attending the picnic. #2 and #3 ran around the place with other kids while their fellow operatives served up #5's gallimaufry, all operatives having earlier done what they said they needed to. This also meant the transport had been converted into a table (somebody else kindly provided chairs). Another group not far across the park thankfully had all sorts of cold beverages handy to relieve burning mouths. "This is good!" one person said.

"Any seconds?" came another soul, to which #5 gladly served up more.

"You sure are talented," a third mentioned, "How do you do it?"

#5 looked coy. "Too much, really. It's a natural talent. Still, I hafta share da credit wit' a secret 'friend' who let me an' my friends sample a similar recipe."

"And that would be?" a fourth asked.

"Couldn't say," #4 replied, "That'd be telling!" The customers shrugged, and the three operatives shared another giggle.

"Hey, #1!" #2 called, "#4! Bet me and #3 could beat the two of you in hacky-sacking!"

"No you couldn't!" #4 playfully shot back.

"Yes we cou-ould!" #3 sang.

"You're on!" Miraculously, #4's momentum didn't knock a single thing off the table.

"Right," #1 said, the frolicking trio having forgotten about him and #5, "I'm gonna go take a little walk around the park. Think you'll do fine alone?"

"Sure thing," #5 confirmed, "#5 never felt dis good all day."

"Alright then. Don't wait up." And #1 departed. Standing alone at the table either watching the scene or serving more gallimaufry, #5's thoughts today had been a real cycle. First she remembered the mysterious discomfort, then forgot it, remembered it, forgot it, and then remembered it again. #5 basically couldn't escape whatever was bothering her. However, at least for now a bright expression due to her culinary accomplishment let her mask it with ease. As #2 said, maybe she'd explain when she knew the time was right.

End Transmission


	2. Operation: JAMBON

Note: This one occurs shortly after FUGITIVE.

**J**aded  
**A**nnoyance  
**M**aterializes  
**B**rings  
**O**afish  
**N**ullification

KND missions amongst other events came and went, sometimes with a price. Sector V saw days they hoped never came back. #86, #362, #58, and #59 shared the motion this time. Medical attention didn't repair #58 and #59's hurt pride due to letting that fugitive escape. #362's day-long castigations towards #86 for messing up a separate mission to retrieve information from Father's mansion flooded the Moonbase. In short, all four operatives needed insurmountable time before recovery (in more ways than one) took effect. On the other hand, some super refresher might cut it in half for Sector V. Little did they know how close around the corner it lay. Where said fugitive fit in, no one knew or could care.

And depending on how far the war between children and adults extended, some dismissed the events as something like weird government experiments. Who believed supposed nonsense about a sick man wielding a gun that increased his nasal mucus production thousand-fold or even a prohibitionist-wannabe creating a successful machine actually bottling youngsters, right? A group of pig farmers housed not far from Sector V's hometown embraced the skeptical side around 3:30 AM one morning. Nothing special concerning their corner of the world yet befell today while readying swine for meat grinding. Always a simple process: One anxious pig after another got knocked unconscious; dropped into the machine; ground up and processed one at a time; all parts separately packaged; all packages placed in crates; and shipped off to supermarkets. "Next!" the machine supervisor called every minute or so.

Everyone working on the farm was so preoccupied by his or her task that none noticed a dark-clad figure slinking along the institution. Having eluded their pursuers back at Father's mansion, the fugitive knew it wouldn't take long before someone else became hot on their trail. #58 and #59 may have removed the fugitive's previous weapons beforehand, but at least they'd located sufficient resources in a pile of discarded items in one of the mansion's underground rooms. Two old pistols, a pack of suction pads, and a vial containing stale white plasma with blue streaks were sheathed around the waist. Only a calamity to distract former comrades yet remained needed; the operative knew exactly what. "Okay, critter," a hired hand spoke while reaching for an extra-mature swine, "Your turn."

The fugitive saw the right moment concurring and withdrew a gun. Rather than bullets or lasers, this gun contained a tiny bomb capable of destroying nothing larger than a compact disc. However, the fugitive didn't really mind its guarantees like they did making a distraction. Halfway through the old pig's demise, a successful shot launched the bomb right through one of the machine's many natural openings quicker than the eye detected. It attached to an inner metal panel and beeped silently; no telling when it would go off. Meat processing and the first few packaging seconds went smoothly except for the worrisome fugitive. How much longer did the bomb require? The nervously impatient fugitive located a button hidden on the same gun and pressed it. Once finished loading up the one old pig's parts, a worker couldn't seal the crate (labeled Q-467) before the bomb went off. The machine remained standing though it smoked; such combined with noise alone disturbed all other live pigs. "Scree! Scree!"

"Hey!" another worker yelled.

"Come back here, you!" came yet another. Workers scrambling to get the swine back in place alongside others distracted by the malfunctioning grinder completed the ruckus. Stampeding feet kicked up dust intermingling with the smoke, providing the fugitive sufficient cover. There was no time to giggle or smirk; the rascal must keep their coughing and gagging lower than anyone else's ears picked up. It only took meager further study, memorization, and stares to recall the crate's position. Withdrawing the plasma-filled vial, the fugitive took careful aim towards a clear spot above the smoke and tossed the object. Once the vial stood in mid-air for a split second, out came the other pistol which did fire lasers. The fugitive had judged perfect aim: One shot shattered that vial and released its contents, to which the smoke-dust cloud didn't affect. No one heard or saw the fired laser, and no one saw the extra-aged meat absorb the strange plasma.

"What in blazes is going down here?" one of the high-ranking officials cried near the machine.

"The grinder must've blown a fuse!" another guessed.

"Ain't that a kick in the head!" the first one continued, "We just bought it last week! What kinda parts are they using in manufacture?"

"Not to worry!" one more worker announced, holding a fire extinguisher. By the time white foam brought the smoke under control and the swine were tamed, the same worker noticed the fugitive's outline. "Hey, you! The stranger in the funny outfit! What're you doing here?" That's when the fugitive abruptly departed. Letting her fellow workers do the rest, the one dropped the extinguisher and gave chase. "Come back here!" But by the time she stepped outside, the fugitive was nowhere to be seen. "Funny."

"Hey, what's up?" another approaching worker questioned.

"I thought I saw a stranger in here wearing some weird costume. Could've been a kid or short adult, I didn't get a good look. They must've had their face covered up."

"Huh. Think they had something to do with this mess?"

"Pretty likely. They're gone now, but we seriously need security. Guess that's what happens when you work freelance."

"Okay, people!" came a third voice from back inside, "Let's keep it going! Chop, chop!"

"Wow," the second worker commented, "Good thing we had that spare grinder handy." And the pair returned to their positions. Having hidden on the ceiling of a stall's shade, the fugitive continued their destructive ways by sneaking around the entire complex into the loading area where crate after crate went inside a refrigerator truck. Hiding behind foliage while viewing building interiors through multiple openings, their eyes widened once meeting the crate labeled Q-467. Every agricultural production facility had scrupulous inspectors to sniff out bad products no matter who owned the business. But the plasma left no trace upon absorption according to lack of discoloration or otherwise. Breathing a relieved sigh, the fugitive snuck along following the meat as it reached the loading area. Once the truck was full and nobody noticed, they strapped those suction cups to palms and knees and climbed atop just seconds before the vehicle drove off.

The first ten miles towards town saw nothing noteworthy other than maybe a couple potholes, the driver humming a tune, or the fugitive hanging tight with watery eyes because of rushing wind. Come the eleventh mile, both driver and delinquent stowaway felt sudden bumping inside the trailer that nearly sent the whole rig careening into a ditch. The trailer lock suddenly broke loose, thereby bringing the door open and the same infected crate (actually bouncing about) flung near the edge of a ravine. "What in the name of…" the driver began, putting on the brakes. With the truck stopped and turned off, the driver undid her seat belt and scrambled outside to inspect. That's when the crate slipped and fell down that ravine, the driver reaching the same spot too late. She saw the crate bounce off three surfaces before plunging into utter darkness while the fugitive climbed off the truck. "Great. This is coming outta my paycheck." Shaking her head, the driver (not minding the fugitive, who snuck towards the front) closed the trailer door and – after withdrawing a new lock from her pocket – latched the trailer door shut again. The fugitive then walked into the same spot at the same speed as the driver, who climbed back inside the tractor and drove off.

That done, the fugitive made their way down the ravine like a spider. Lack of friction and irregularly shaped sides defied the suction cups at certain points but didn't yet halt the journey. However, one particularly muddy section undermined their hold and sent the fugitive sprawling into the muddy bottom. Standing up once more, their eyes beheld the crate that had already sunk one-third below. Rumbling motions brought it popping open to the fugitive's surprise. Out came several large ham slices stacking themselves into a leg shape like a card dealer passing cards, preceding smaller slices comprising three stocky toes. Then came another leg; a torso made of larger slices; one black stick arm on each side shaped like a cartoon bug leg, each boasting inflamed lamina; topped off by pieces of ham stacked together on their sides. Angry eyes accompanied a mouth with lower molars and upper incisors sticking out.

Now the fugitive knew not whether to be scared, impressed, or if they'd be able to leave the ravine. Allegiance was no option in the ham creature's mind, as demonstrated by his following actions. "Time…to play," the creature grunted. His entire physique separated back into individual slices taking lives of their own and swirling about in a vortex. The fugitive needed not worry over escaping the ravine; the monster's pieces swarmed about the poor delinquent, swatting nonstop. Such a stir created levitation that lifted both beings right onto the surface once more. After dropping the fugitive aside and letting them run away, the monster reconstituted his pieces and walked slowly toward the city.

Meanwhile, another truck driver transporting the same kind of cargo had stopped by Sector V's treehouse unhindered by the same no-kid rules for ice-cream vendors. "Are you sure about this?" he asked #4, who offered up money, "Aren't you a bit young to be purchasing something this great?"

#4 felt peaceful today considering the group's recent troubles, and the driver looked less threatening than even that lousy Toilenator. If not, the blond boy and his team would be ready. "Eh, I get around. How much fo' one crate?"

"How much y'got there again?"

"Forty dollars. Take it er leave it."

"Sold." The driver withdrew a crate full of the oily meat from his truck, accepted the forty dollars, and made the exchange. "Sure you can carry that thing? It's pretty heavy."

"Aw, this is nothin'. Believe me, I've carried heavier."

"Whatever you say. Pleasure doing business with ya."

"Likewise, mate." The driver closed the trailer door again and left, and #4 walked back into the treehouse with meat in hand. "Boy, do I love ham. The extra-aged kind, at that. Everybody's gonna be pleased with the results." Despite the plastic casings and the crates imperious acquistion, more than slim openings emitted a wonderful smell that tickled #4's olfactory cells. Not a step through the hallways of #1's house leading to the base above failed the operative. "Yum, yum. The only…aw, forget it." He made his way to the treehouse dining room and set the crate down on the table. "Friends! I'm back!" No response came. "Hello? Am I talking ta myself?" Then came the sound of thumping feet followed by the others' sudden entrance. "I take that back."

"You called?" #1 said.

"Didja get it?" #3 asked, "Didja get it?"

"Sure did. It's in the box."

#2 took a crowbar from off the top of the refrigerator, opened up said container, and all five stared at the delicious contents in awe. Probably a bit much to the outside world, but the packages of sliced ham shined like heaven to them. "Oooooooh," was the shared response.

"Have y'all ever seen anythin' so…oily?" #5 complimented, "Now you're da best. #5's gettin' hungrier just lookin'."

"So let's stop looking and start chowing down!" #4 announced.

"Wait a second," #2 interrupted, "Let's cook the meat first."

"Why?" #3 wondered, "Doesn't it taste just fine da way it is?"

"Yeah, but cooking brings the best flavor to the surface. My mom taught me that firsthand."

"By all means," #1 said, "Kids Next Door, fry that meat!"

"Gladly!" #4 agreed. #1 and #2 removed package after package. #5 obtained a pair of scissors to cut off the plastic casings. #3 broke out two giant pizza trays, one for herself and the other to hold unwrapped meat. #4 withdrew a blowtorch from a drawer, and he and #3 led the others – carrying the other pizza tray, which now held half of the crate's contents – into the next room. #1, #2, and #5 set their load upon another table, grabbed one slice in each hand, and took aim facing the other pair: #3 stood at a wall directly across holding her tray firmly as ever, and #4 stood between both factions. Then began a little 'game'.

"Whenever yer ready!" #2 called.

"Show me whatcha got!" #4 answered back. The onlooking trio tossed six ham slices #4's way like disci, which he quickly torched one at a time and let #3 catch with her tray.

"Goal!" she declared, "Slam dunk! Strike! I mean, touchdown! I mean…um…what do I mean?"

"Er, the game's far from over, #3," #1 reminded, "We've still at least fifty more slices before breakfast is ready."

"Make dat fifty-three," #5 refuted.

"I didn't say da game was over," #3 said, wiggling a finger, "C'mon, I'm just getting warmed up!"

"Comin' atcha!" #2 announced. How the three tossing operatives kept their projectiles in a straight line, nobody could say other than lots of practice. Each roasted ham slice landed on the second tray without fail, an event which continued until four skyscraper-like stacks gave #3's arms a workout. The others gathered around her, and all smelled it in satisfaction.

"Mm, mm!" #5 declared, "#5 says eat up!"

"Wait a second," #2 said, "There are still some things missing. Can't have breakfast without juice, toast, and eggs."

"I suppose," #4 said, "Who's up fer a round of Egg Crackin'?"

While this all happened, the huffing ham monster strolled down the highway scaring off human and beast bystanders outside. Beings inside a shack or whatever nearby structure either pulled the shades or just ducked upon the floor. Motor vehicles approaching from behind took the nearest detour or a U-turn back the way they came. Anyone driving towards him did a U-turn or swerved aside. The plasma probably emitted a foul, repellent odor, or maybe the monster simply looked too real. Whatever the reason, nobody dared chance the notion that somebody was wearing an impressive costume. Though, the first suburb he reached produced lighter reactions. Much momentum ceased; people dropped their held items; and all eyes followed his constant movement. "What's that?" one person wondered.

"Yer asking me?" came a second voice.

"Where'd that thing come from?" a third muttered, "Is it friendly?"

"Doh doh doh," the monster mumbled, eyes half-closed, "Zuv zuv zuv zuv. Better think up a name, or else I'll only be able to refer to myself as the Ham Walker From The Bottom Of The Ditch, something I don't like. Now what sounds good?" A gust then by chance blew an old children's newsletter upon the monster's ankle, halting movement and invoking curiosity. "What have we here?" Picking up the newsletter – dating back around one or two decades – proved easier said than done with infected 'hands', but the monster somehow managed. One arm held the newsletter firmly despite burning pain while the other arm and his eyes skimmed the pages, reaching one rather interesting article. "Farm under quarantine…worst laminitis case in ten years…pigs deemed unsafe for consumption…" The lower right hand corner also conveniently had a small glossary. "Laminitis: inflammation of the laminated tissue that attaches a hoof to a hoofed animal's foot…hmm…" The monster tossed away the newsletter and eyed his hands. "This burning sensation is something called laminitis, huh? Laminitis, laminitis…I like the sound of that. My name is Laminitis. Now…"

Laminitis stopped short at the smell of bacon cooking on a nearby grill, contorted eyes becoming angry. The grill's owner snapped out of his reverie. "Uh…something wrong, mister?"

"Something 'bout that smell ain't right," Laminitis spoke, separating into multiple ham slices. The owner and several other people dodged aside as the monster made his way towards the grill in his second vortex-like movement. Sustaining a few burns from the grill couldn't stop his rampage: Battering and flung fragments gave way to an explosion in the driveway, all contained inside that vortex while invoking no other significant damage besides a charred crater. Screaming people ran off as Laminitis reconstituted himself and then took ability testing further. Inflating his body three stories high out on the street filled its entire width only inches away from opposing mailboxes. "Hey, I'm a balloon." A deflated body gave way to nasty thoughts. "I must be meant for big things, or I wouldn't have these powers."

"Pass the bacon, please!" came a child's voice from a backyard two blocks down the road. Laminitis' eyes angrily squinted and stomach turned when the smell of said foodstuff or anything similar met his microscopic nostrils. It seems almost everybody in town, not just Sector V, desired a pork-based breakfast.

"Phew. Can't put my hooves on it, but that just ain't right. Breakfast time is ended." And Laminitis followed his nose (or lack thereof) to the nearest food plates regardless of anything else.

Once more, Sector V remained oblivious to the outside world as they proceeded with morning chow time. Food, drink, and hungry children covered the table while the re-latched crate stood all by its lonesome in one corner. Sometimes they ate their toast separately from ham after slopping some butter on. Other times, bread and meat together formed ham sandwiches; such especially was the case for #4, who happily held one up to his mouth. "I just love pork," he commented, followed by a belch and more chewing.

"Yummety!" #3 declared, "We should do this more often."

"Maybe so," #1 said, "There's still enough for lunch and probably also dinner if anybody's interested."

"I'm there!" #2 announced, "If it'll help us get over #86's tantrums."

"I know what ya mean," #4 said, the remaining members nodding their heads in agreement. Concerning that mission, few really knew what exactly the ranking KND officer had against the world besides mutual disapproval of adult tyranny. Even more peculiar, the majority of her slams were aimed at male operatives. Friend or enemy, Sector V felt determined not to let a thing ruin breakfast. "Eh, let 'er go. She ain't here right now."

"Yeah, we got more important things," #3 agreed, holding up her glass of orange juice, "Like letting the orange juice river flow its course down our throats." And she gulped up the juice.

"No offense, #3, but now you sound worse than #2 crackin' another joke," #5 chimed, "Anyway, speakin' o' gettin' over stuff, maybe lunch or dinner'll calm #5's nerves at least a tidbit."

"Why, what's up?" #1 questioned.

#5 paused her own consumption; with head lowered, one word said it all. "Cree."

Everybody else also paused out of respect for their friend and her older sibling. The team remembered Cree Lincoln albeit not fondly. One visit to the Lincoln residence provided #1 and #2 a friendly acquaintance – not to mention blind infatuation on the rounder operative's part – following paranoid misunderstandings due to worries characteristic of most teenagers and KND operatives. Nighttime unveiled Cree's deception how she attempted sneaking information from her younger sister's brain (actually a doll) to Father and the Delightful Children. No one in Sector V saw or heard anything of Cree since #2's previous experiment of accidentally making himself a teenager gave way to her imprisonment within a KND prison beyond Earth's atmosphere. "You were that close, huh?" #3 said.

"Sure was," came the reply.

"I ain't much fer all that mush, but that does stink," #4 agreed, preceding nods from #1 and #2. Imagine if the others had villainous family members. #5 felt plenty thankful nobody alienated her for this one detail, particularly her own team. Breakfast consumption then continued at a slightly slower pace.

"Don' worry," #5 put in, "#5'll find a way out."

Then another thought occurred to #2. "Um, did Cree's changed allegiance having anything to do with yer silence when you cooked up that galli-…galli-…?"

"Gallimaufry, #2," #1 spoke.

"Yeah, what #1 said. Were you upset over Cree when you cooked up the gallimaufry?"

"Guilty as charged," #5 confirmed, "One o' my worst fears yet, come true."

Around town, Laminitis left no door unscratched and no window unbroken in his uncoordinated quest to ruin breakfast throughout. Shots invoked by the police or anybody else made ham fragments fall off and harden and crumble into fine dust but did not depose the monster. Plus, his body instantly regenerated any sustained damage. If not for superior acting skills, somebody might've noticed Laminitis' pain whenever a projectile struck the skin covering his laminae. Alas, he maintained calm yet determined demeanor regardless of everything. "Pathetic, pathetic. You really think your little toys'll hurt my steel-nerved exterior?"

"Criminy, he's right!" one police officer complained, "Not a scratch!"

"You know what this means!" a sheriff ordered, "Just clear the area for now! Let's not imitate television or the movies!" And that's what Laminitis let them all do. But calmness again preceded rage as he picked up one huge source of pork-based odor.

"Uh oh. Somebody doesn't know I exist." Laminitis' physique separated into individual slices, taking on the form of a bug swarm that immediately headed in the direction of Sector V and their treehouse.

Breakfast for said group was almost done by this minute. Crumbs, crusts, stains, and dirty dishes now adorned the table. "Who's turn is it ta clean up?" #4 asked. But a sudden rap against some area of the roof surprised the kids and prevented an abrupt answer.

"Are we due for a shower?" #3 asked, preceding another rap against a distant exterior wall.

"Must be hailstones," #2 answered, eyeing the window, "But the skies sure look clear."

#4 caught a third rap upon another window alongside the responsible object, which slid down the window before instantly retracting elsewhere. "Not hailstones. That looked like…a slice of ham?" The entire rush of ham slices comprising Laminitis crashed through every entrance – door and window alike – and wasted no time in knocking the operatives off their seats, beating them up, and making a mess. His departure saw the kids standing up to catch their breath.

"That was ham," #5 said. All walked toward the second window and watched Laminitis rampage throughout, forgetting previous conversational topics.

"Weird," #2 noted, "This thing's moving all over the place attacking random people."

"Yeah, we can see that," #4 said.

"That's not nice!" #3 exclaimed, "We gotta stop it!"

"And how'd it sneak into da treehouse without trippin' the alarm?" #5 wondered, "#1, aren't the automatic defense systems turned on?"

"Even though it's a dirty habit, I could've sworn I did," #1 answered, "Must be another glitch; they don't make 'em like they used to. Kids Next Door, move out!"

Outside, Laminitis temporarily stood in human form to analyze his dirty work. He'd succeeded in taking out nearly all possible resistance, scaring everyone away, and causing great damage. "That's right. You all better be scared of me. Might wanna consider a nice bowl of oatmeal, or maybe…" He didn't finish his sentence before something gooey splattered against the back of his head, invoking shock. "What the?" Laminitis pulled off what he discovered to be a spitball and tossed it aside in disgust. "And to think pork for breakfast was nasty. Who's the wise-acre around here?"

"Nyah nyah!" came five voices. Laminitis turned back around and found Sector V making faces.

"Oh, a bunch o' funny people. So, one round alone wasn't enough." Sector V led the monster down the road in hopes of luring him into a more open area like a meadow or baseball field. But if they thought he'd cooperate, his next actions – reverting to swarm mode; catching up easily; and swatting the kids nonstop – clearly showed they had another thing coming. Eleven seconds worth of swatting saw the group squirming their way out and Laminitis back in humanoid mode, both sides traditionally staring each other down.

"We're the Kids Next Door," #1 said, "Might I inquire as to why you are creating such a ruckus?"

"Guess we all wanna know somethin'," Laminitis replied, "I wanted ta know where today's largest smell of ham came from around seventy miles away, and I learned it was in this very area."

"Seventy miles?" #4 said, "Wow. I must be a better cook than I thought."

"Yeah, but you still haven't answered our question," #2 continued, "Why random people? Why the ruckus?"

"Yeah, whaddaya got against breakfast?" #5 added, "And fer dat matter, who sent ya?"

"Something ain't right about the smell," Laminitis explained, "Could be because I'm made of pig meat. Or perhaps I share the memories of those pigs whose slaughter went into my making. Either way, I got me an ailin' in my stomach every time the smell crosses my path."

Despite hearing his story out, each operative felt equally disturbed by his calm speech patterns and overall near-delirium, something #3 pinpointed first. "Are you feeling alright? You sound like you…well, I can't say."

"Who sent you?" #4 repeated, belaying the disturbance, "Gramma Stuffum? The Delightful Dorks? Count Spankulot? Some new adult? Or did you escape from a Kids Next Door facility?"

"Don't much matter how I feel or who sent me," Laminitis continued, "Kid or adult, everybody's goin' down. I said my stomach ails me, and I, Laminitis, ain't stoppin' until pork no longer has a place on the table. The universe is mine for the taking." The KND could only stare quizzically. Maybe if Laminitis boasted a serious demeanor more like, say, Father…

"Don't hold yer breath," #5 put in.

Laminitis cocked an eye. "Speaking of holding one's breath…" The operatives withdrew their weapons in defensive preparation while the monster gulped some air. But releasing it along with several bodily gases in a gigantic belch that fanned the five young faces obviously proved more annoying than threatening.

"Eeeww!" #2 exclaimed, him and the others fanning the air, "Never thought I'd wish Knightbrace were here." However, a true threat presented itself in the form of Laminitis flinging from his legs one slice at each disoriented operative's cheek like a throwing star (no damage other than bruises).

"That does it!" #4 said, "I'm not takin' this pig's crud anymore!" All opened fire but ended up hitting clouds when Laminitis disassembled for a quick second to dodge before reassembling. Such only happened once as a joke on the monster's part; following blasts certainly made contact but met the police's same failure. The kids halted in surprise at Laminitis' regeneration. Realizing the futility, they charged forward for more direct blows all over him via fists and feet. But only pained limbs resulted. Laminitis responded by kicking away all but #4, who dodged and attempted a belly punch that made his wrist sorer. "Augh!" #4 clutched his wrist. "What, didja swallow a sack of cement?" A fifth kick sent the blond boy rolling back to the group.

"Good warm-up," Laminitis mocked, "Now for business." The group barely stood up again as the monster went into swarm mode. Right then and there, history repeated itself in short time with them being caught in that accursed stinging vortex. One differently sized ham slice after another swat their cheeks, foreheads, chins, hands, shoulders, and so forth nonstop.

"Battle…stations!" #1 commanded between blows. Each operative soon found his or her right moment to not only retrieve a dropped weapon but also simultaneously fight back and dodge. "Roast that meathead!" Laser blasts reduced ham slices to cinders, though Laminitis had another form of regeneration. Perhaps each slice replicated itself before getting charred; in any case, the situation remained constant. No shot yet changed a thing.

"It's not working!" #3 cried, "He's still good!"

So #1 advanced the strategy. "Keep it going, team! Blast several at a time rather than just one!"

"How many?" #5 called.

"Seven, ten, twenty, whatever works best!" Laminitis wasn't worried in the least. One or several, even that new step couldn't break the team free. To make maneuvers all the more difficult, the slice containing his face unleashed another stinky gust which not only annoyed them further but also nearly knocked them off their feet.

"You definitely need Knightbrace's expertise!" #2 said, fanning the air, "Or Dr. Sigmund Teef, at any rate!"

"How 'bout a mouthful o' knuckles!" #4 smarted off, deflecting slices via his fists and anticipating the one with Laminitis' face. When expected slice came, it latched onto the operative's hands upon making contact. "'Ey! Let go!" It tossed #4 right above #2's head. #2 just barely dodged the living missile in question, who in turn barely dodged his blaster and somersaulted back on both feet again. "Fooey." #4 was blasting individual slices all over again.

"Anybody next?" Laminitis asked.

#3 found herself cornered in her own separate section of the 'storm' chiefly by the monster's razor-sharp stick arms, which he used as kitanas. "Back! Go away!" The youngest operative literally fired all over the place, supplementing lasers with loose gravel bits strewn across the road. Such frenzy saw gravel strike Laminitis' hands dead-on hard; the monster couldn't hide his pain forever. Soon, two extra-powerful blasts from #3's weapon at last incinerated each arm permanently. "I win! I win!"

"Eep!" a pained Laminitis cried, his first one of disconcert all day. He reverted to humanoid mode, and Sector V picked up their weapons and regrouped.

"What just happened?" #2 wondered.

"Look!" #4 pointed out, "He's got no arms!" Although the pain had indeed passed, Laminitis now faced the problem of properly balancing himself on two legs. His bulk simply proved too much.

"No need to thank me," #3 bragged, "#3: two, ugly: zippo!"

"Of course," #5 commented, "Except fer a few birds, most animals can't stand straight without arms or wings."

At this point, Laminitis all but lost his previous demeanor. "Whadja go and do that for? Whoa!" He narrowly caught himself from falling. "My arms! My beautiful arms!"

"Uh, why do you think she broke 'em?" #4 retorted.

"You'll pay for that," the monster threatened.

"Like we haven't heard that a zillion times on television," #1 returned, "Anyway, you're weakened in your new condition. Forfeiting now looks promising."

Laminitis regained tranquility. "I think not. My arms are gone, but I can still…oop!" The monster nearly fell over on his back again, and #1 decided not to give him a sporting chance.

"Now, team!" the leader abruptly commanded, "While he's weak!" Now the tables had turned. Laminitis at first didn't worry about sustaining injury thanks to regeneration, and his toes eventually did regain a firm grip on the street. However, the increasing force of each child's blasts alone making physical contact with any part of his body diminished all possibilities for an umpteenth disassembly. Laminitis couldn't go to vortex mode because simply resisting collapse exhausted him. Pretty soon, regeneration seemed to slow, heralding the monster's eventual demise. At that, the operatives shut their weapons off for self-congratulations.

"What a day," #4 commented, stretching his arms and back, "And it's barely started."

"Eh, #5 needed the mornin' exercise," #5 said, also stretching, "Too bad we had ta waste good meat. Sheesh, #5's gettin' tired o' these food fights."

"From where do you think he came?" #3 asked.

"Beats me," #2 shrugged, "Laminitis said he didn't care." All eyes then noticed the shadow of some round, flat object within the space they surrounded; glancing upward revealed one solitary ham slice having escaped destruction.

"Hey, that's…" #1 began, only to have the slice quickly zip down and swat each child's face. They opened fire once more but couldn't touch the object before it flew two miles high above. The slice then expanded to the width and length each of two city blocks. Its manner of curling up into an inflated sphere was overshadowed by Laminitis' echoing voice. "I ain't missin' the party. This town's a pancake with maple syrup!"

"Uh oh," the kids chorused. Ignoring them, the sphere plunged downward; the group jolted when it crushed the nearest car. It then continued bouncing off toward the urban distance leaving trampled fences and concrete in its wake.

"Great," #2 said, "Kid or adult, he doesn't care who stands in his way. I'm out of ideas."

"Aw, the answer's obvious," #3 said.

"It is?" a skeptical #4 responded.

"Yep! Look at #4's weapon." Everyone did just that, noticing a bayonet tied of course to the barrel but mysteriously ever unused a while earlier. "See? Balloons pop!"

"Dis ain't no ordinary balloon, #3," #5 reminded, "What difference ya think that dinky ol' blade's gonna make?"

"With the appropriate velocity," #1 realized, "It's worth a try. C'mon!" Fortunately, they need not run more than twenty meters before the sphere randomly came their way again. It crushed a stop sign nearly flattening the kids in the process. #4 stood at the end of a line holding his gun's bayonet end away using one hand and his other gripping that of #2. #5 stood down the next position with #3 following up. After activating his footwear's rocket boosters, #1 then grabbed #3's free hand and zoomed up quickly enough to bring along his team in just one fell swoop. Next, following an abrupt analysis of the sphere's future movements, the second youngest started zooming around in circles until they were nothing but a blur on the outside (all wondered if their grips would hold out, but none more so than #4).

#1 judged their timing perfectly, and the oncoming pork balloon couldn't save itself. One quick swipe of the bayonet cut a gash in the object; rushes of internal air sent it careening above the skyline same as any balloon losing its air. Meanwhile, Sector V's own velocity slowed just a foot above an empty front yard which they plopped upon without sustaining major injury. (Such also automatically turned off #1's boosters.) "That was…fun," #2 said.

"Speak for yerself," #5 moaned.

"Look!" #3 pointed out. The operatives watched the sphere fly about, their heads following the same movement. Deflation never seemed to stop as compression grew ever stronger. But it soon enough ended with a fiery explosion that incinerated every inch. Not a trace remained.

A stunned Sector V got back up again and stood quietly for six seconds until #4 broke the silence. "Uh…mission accomplished?"

"Yeah," #1 answered, gently nodding his head, "Back to base." A slow walk to said destination ended the session. None noticed the same fugitive hiding around a nearby untouched fence, arms crossed and a satisfied look on their face. They too departed the scene once Sector V was out of sight.

End Transmission


	3. Operation: ZEALOT

Note: Occurs a little after PINKEYE. In my opinion, all this anti-Lizzie fanaticism was a waste of time for obvious reasons.

**Z**ealous  
**E**xcellent  
**A**dherent  
**L**ingers  
**O**ver  
**T**eam

Handling Nurse Claiborne would have to wait until another occasion since the sly woman made a rather clean getaway. #86, Joe Balooka, and several other kids needed ample time before recovering from that disgusting pink eye concoction. And, it'd take a miracle to get the KND Code Module back from Cree Lincoln and those few Teen Ninjas. What did they want with it? Was it connected to Cree's late-night meeting with Father and the Delightful Children after supposedly extracting information from her sister's brain? Where did the Kids Next Door go from there? Too many questions left room for little or no answers; just have to let time flow its course as usual. The young freedom fighters could take everything thrown their way, right? At least Claiborne lost more than one source of income; served her right.

Walking down the sidewalk without sustaining assault seemed peaceful enough at present for one certain person. Days such as this always started off event-less, no telling what incident would invoke change. Possible snooping eyes saw glimpses of her gargantuan (for her age) figure through openings between foliage and fence posts if her shadow – much more visible in the open opposite side – didn't tip them off. Further visual inspection supplementing careful listening to her mumbles indicated a book-based study session. "Let's see now…defend your devotee's honor…ooh, more butt-kicking. Sounds promising, but where am I gonna find the chance to stick up for 'im?"

"Let's rip 'em apart!" came a gruff voice out of thin air. The mysterious girl paused her stroll, ran up to the nearest picket fence, peered through a knothole, and found the commotional source. Sector V had their hands full what with a large group of lowly bullies picking a fight. The bullies indeed were teenagers but apparently shared no connections to the Teen Ninjas, Cree, Chad (a.k.a. the former #274), or anyone else (i.e. followed their own clique). Their lack of battle technology defied even odds via both sides using nothing other than fists and feet though Sector V desired tipping the scales.

"Perfect," the mysterious girl muttered, eyes looking pleased at having found the opportunity for something.

"You picked the wrong person ta mess with," #4 threatened. Again, the battle was more of a gang fight than military combat. No one had qualms about using whatever tactics available no matter how dishonorable. The bullies wanted a brawl backed by no obvious reason which Sector V was only happy to deliver, as they'd prefer taking on even the Toilenator over these clowns. Odds eventually came down to five against five. #1, #4, and #5 soon held their opponents hand in hand with opposing faces only a couple inches distance apart. #3 continued frustrating hers by curtsying about effortlessly, being the only one as always avoiding blows without even trying. #2 and his opponent lay flat on the ground, wrestling and just as evenly matched.

"Hey, friends!" #2 called out, "How's about…some…help here?"

"We'll be…over there…in a moment!" #1 replied through gritted teeth.

In the meantime, one of the other knocked-out bullies had just recovered long enough to withdraw a rubber band from her pocket to use as a slingshot. Taking careful aim at the back of #1's head, she got no further when a looming shadow halted her momentum. "I don't think so," a familiar voice threatened. The bully didn't meet the stranger's gaze before getting knocked out again.

#1, #4, and #5's opponent started bending over and tightened their force, driving the operatives towards the ground. All young eyes were closed as tightly as their teeth. "You…gotta…give…up," #1 huffed. All three expressions then relaxed at feeling the bullies' softened grips. Opening their eyes unveiled the shock of punks with contorted faces, whose hands the former released to let the latter collapse upon the ground.

"#1, whaddaya suppose?" #5 wondered.

"Good question," was the reply.

"Whoever did it, they're definitely a friend of…" #4 began, all but stopping short at seeing the unveiled rescuer, "…mine?"

#2 flung his opponent – also inexplicably knocked unconscious – off his upper half before #3 joined his side, both operatives just as surprised as their friends. "#2, do you see what **I** see?" the silly girl said.

"I can't believe it," the round boy spoke.

"Lizzie?" the KND cried. Indeed, #1's hyperactive aficionada wasn't about to just sit around and let some punks take advantage particularly of her aficionado. When push came to shove, the spectacled girl somehow stared down the entire bullyish procession by herself.

"You were sayin' #4?" #5 said.

"Never mind," the second oldest replied.

"So, you wanna mix it up too, huh?" one bully spoke.

#1 instantly traded shock for defensiveness. "You leave her alone!"

"Don't worry, Nigel!" Lizzie assured, "I got it under control."

"I don't think so," the same bully crooned. The exasperated Sector V moved in for the attack only to stop short again at a second shock: Lizzie seriously pounded the snot out of every single one as if having trained at the KND Arctic Base twenty times. Most punks got physical blows either right in the gut or across the kisser. Some were tossed aside like empty aluminum cans. Lizzie used a few like shields. And others nearly had their limbs twisted off. The KND could only watch with dropped jaws as she piled the bullies up and then pulled one to her eye level for two last threats.

"If you dare harm one hair on my Nigie again, I'll make sure you stay in the hospital for twelve years straight!"

"Wh-whatever you say."

Lizzie dropped him. "Now all of you get outta my sight!" The bullies sped off knowing better than to argue, and the KND operatives made Lizzie's acquaintance.

#3 gave her regards first. "Wow, that was so amazing! You had them right where you wanted them, and then it was all 'Pow! Bang! Whoosh!', and…" Lizzie just half-smiled at the youngest team member's rapid-fire compliments, who stopped once the others stared at her in quizzical perplexity. (In a whisper, #4 expected such out of himself had it been anybody else.) "Uh, sorry."

"Lizzie, why exactly are you here?" #1 picked up, "And where did you come from?"

"I was just in the neighborhood when I saw you and your friends fighting some bad guys and bad ladies, so I thought I'd just lend a hand."

"Some hand," #2 commented, "You must've paid the Arctic Base several visits."

"Lemme make sure they didn't hurt you too badly," Lizzie offered, ignoring the others. Though, it wasn't much of an inspection as it was more a loving gesture how stroking #1's bald head made him giggle timidly; she really liked the feeling and even thought he pulled off the bald look better than he realized. #4 and #5 made a 'loco' gesture with pointer fingers at the sides of their heads, preceding how they and the others giggled at the display. Lizzie stopped stroking to shoot them a death glare to which they whistled and gave innocent looks.

"Er, thank you, Lizzie," #1 said, gently shoving her away trying to avoid unnecessary embarrassment, "You did good. We must be leaving now. Again, thank you very much."

"Bye, Nigie," Lizzie replied as the group departed. Recalling their tendencies from that one carnival incident, #1's friends couldn't help poking fun at their executive comrade.

"Did she offer a kiss and hug?" #5 teased.

"Or her undying gratitude?" #4 joined in.

"I know!" #3 added, "A slice of cake!"

"And don't forget the raspberry tea!" #2 finished.

#1 blushed and pleaded the others to stop as they laughed at their own comments. "Please. Enough is enough."

Lizzie heard these things while she too departed for home, patting her skirt pocket which contained something book-shaped. "'Defend your devotee's honor', so it said. And I say today was a success. I actually got his appreciation again." Then her thoughts returned to the others. "Some friends. How can Nigel even stand them? If I had friends like that, I'd just leave 'em. They think our love is one big joke. Well, I'll show them." Lizzie just didn't understand her boyfriend's taste in company. Thinking back to that same day at the carnival, the spectacled girl remembered the quartet as a seemingly friendly bunch until #1 attempted introductions. Denial over their romantic relationship saw Lizzie push her boyfriend into the mud having been overtaken by frustration. Something definitely snapped inside; controlling him with the YesDear 5000 helmet the following day and those neon lights reading 'I love U, Nigel' seeking to interrupt his snoozing a while later only enlarged the established conflicts.

Later weeks saw a little more change, starting with the Delightfulization scam set up by none other than the Delightful Children From Down The Lane. How Lizzie let herself be duped by their bribe for a taste of cake icing she couldn't say, but at least she'd made a lasting impression by crushing the cake monster. Opportunity in the form of leading a KND mission for a tired #1 provided further inspiration in worldly experiences though it set back possible acceptance amongst the other Sector V operatives. Who could say? Maybe Lizzie might've been able to give them a real chance had things happened differently or their attitudes changed (although, in a whisper, #3 seemed pretty willing to compromise). But for now, Lizzie must occupy herself elsewhere.

Come tomorrow afternoon, Lizzie was on the look for new opportunities to impress #1. She had the same book opened to a new page, not at all minding the noises from an urban alleyway four more blocks down the road. "'Defend your devotee's honor.' Done. What next?" She skimmed the page. "Hmm…'Write him a poem.' I can do that! I'm the best poet that ever lived! Now, where…" A metal clang preceding spraying noises followed by one vertical pink spritz shot above the rooftops and a horizontal one shot right out onto the street all from the same alley at last caught her attention. "Now what?" Lizzie stowed the book back inside her pocket.

Inside that alley, Sector V had newer problems in the form of a married couple dressed in traditional firefighter attire. The pair together wielded a fire hose connected to a portable fireplug spraying pink paint all over the place instead of water. As like the bullies from yesterday, #3's dancing made the frustrated villains miss to no end. Once again, all except the youngest operative had their difficulties dodging (no doubt all due to her carefree nature). The 'firefighters' were so busy that they didn't take notice of #4 and #5 hiding behind a nearby dumpster and #1 and #2 behind some boxes. Sector V suffered less great than a few paint sprinkles across their faces. "La la la la…" #3 sang.

"Hold still, you little mosquito," the man demanded.

"What's 'er problem?" #4 said, "How can she just play around like there's no danger?"

"Dat's just #3," #5 shrugged, "Her smile does it all. #5 bets she amazes herself."

"What velocity's that stuff traveling?" #1 wondered.

"If I remember correctly, I'd say at least enough force to blow a hole through someone's belly," #2 guessed. No matter how low his voice, #3 heard it to smartly stop dancing and cower behind #4 and #5.

"No!" she cried, "I don't want a hole in my belly!"

"Belly holes, huh?" the woman said, "Sounds promising." And the pair just continued their assault.

"What's yer problem?" #4 called, "Don'tcha know you could kill someone with that?"

"That's the point!" the woman retorted. But a sudden blow in the back of her head knocked her out. The man noticed a slight tug indicating his wife collapsed and so looked back, face falling slack at her unconscious form. He then dropped the hose – halting the attack though Sector V dared not check if they were pulling a fast one – and knelt down.

"Honey! Are you…?" The man stopped in mid-sentence when another blow sent him into dreamland also. A small hand turned a knob on the fireplug that decreased paint velocity, picked up the hose, and sprayed the alleyway's hind wall. Half a minute passed during which the KND operatives dipped down low covering their heads before the stranger turned the hose off. Minor vexation rivaled surprise upon making the rescuer's acquaintance after the operatives regrouped. No one yet noticed painted writing on the hind wall.

"Hi!" Lizzie greeted.

"What in the name of…?" #5 said, "Wha's Lizzie doin' here again?"

"Doesn't she ever give up, #1?" #4 complained.

"I'm afraid not," #1 answered in resignation.

"Hello again, Nigel! Wait 'til you see what I wrote for you!"

"Be careful with dat thing!" #3 warned, "You could put somebody's eye out! Er, I mean belly!"

"Yeah, what #3 said!" #2 chimed.

Lizzie tossed the hose aside and pointed to the wall. "Just look." All turned back around and finally caught it; one quick study made #1 blush whereas the others poured on the laughs.

"Hee hee hah ha ha ha!" #3 laughed, "Cute and funny!"

"Oh, too much!" #4 declared, "This is just too much! 'Nigel is a flower. He glows radiantly. His petals shall never wilt, not with me tending them.'"

"She forgot to mention things about his leaves and stems!" #2 said.

"Dis is better than the circus, baby!" #5 put in.

Lizzie didn't like those comments, but she just shrugged it off and met #1's gaze requesting his opinion. "I know it's short, Nigel. But it's a good start, right?"

"Sure. Just…fine." #1 saw the paint-filled fireplug as an excuse to change the subject. "Thanks again, Lizzie. You go ahead and run along, we'll take care of the rest."

"Okay!" Lizzie acknowledged. Following her departure, Sector V set to work not only disassembling the weapon used against them but also tying up the offenders. Glimpsing at the makeshift poem every three seconds instilled more uneasiness in #1 and giggles from the others with a bit more serious conversation over the leader's girlfriend following up.

"What's up with Lizzie?" #2 began, "Why's she doing all of this?"

"Uh, #2?" #5 said, "Has it occurred to you dat she ain't in it fer us? She just wants ta get #1 to notice her."

"I know that, #5. I'm just asking why."

"And **I** know exactly how Lizzie feels," #3 said.

"She's more wild than you," #4 put in.

"Hey!"

"I said wild, not insane. And no, both words don't always mean the same thing."

"Okay, enough," #1 interrupted, wanting to neither start a fight nor sustain further embarrassment, "Let's talk about something else, shall we?"

"Why?" #5 disagreed, getting smiley, "#5 likes dis one jus' fine."

More giggling at the poem alleviated not #1's agitation. "Just radio headquarters to take these hooligans away."

"No need!" #3 announced, looking upward, "Looksie what I see-see." The others' eyes followed the direction of her finger towards an oncoming KND vehicle.

"Some service," #2 commented, "They must've got an early notice." The ship landed before the alleyway, and out stepped some operatives naturally led by #58 and #59. "I stand corrected."

Two more blocks facing the open alleyway, Lizzie looked up at her work in admiration and doubt; the writing was large enough to be seen rather easily at such a distance. #1 had more than his fair share of agitation what with #58, #59, and their group joining in on the laughs. But for the umpteenth time, other matters occupied Lizzie's attention. "Hmm. A good start, alright. But it really doesn't capture Nigel's true handsome capacity." She eyed the disassembled pieces of hose and fireplug also being removed. "Good. Those items aren't gonna do much more anyhow." Lizzie wracked her brain. "Let's see. I almost got my newest poem in mind, but I'll need something big…"

Humorous notions all but subsided on the way back to the Sector V treehouse. It seems #3 wasn't the only one who had different subjects to bring up much to #1's relief. "I think I forgot something," #3 said.

"These couple o' days've been kinda calm," #5 noted, "First a group o' dumb bullies, then two married firefighter wannabes. Are all da major baddies on vacation or somethin'?

"Or plotting more little schemes to soften us up before the Teen Ninjas' plan comes to fruition," #1 guessed, "Either one's possible."

"Does anyone remember what I forgot?" #3 repeated.

"No, #3," #2 answered, "Nobody knows what you forgot."

"I'll kick myself fer this," #4 muttered, raising his voice a bit in his next sentences, "Go ahead, #3. Tell us what you forgot. And while yer at it, tell us about that paper stickin' outta yer pocket." #4 had experienced #3's bad side quite enough in the past few months. Judging by the way things were happening for him lately, and how worse it might become later, he'd rather enjoy today same as in old days.

#3 looked at her pocket after hearing #4's statement, pulled the paper out, and read it quietly to herself. "Oh yeah!" Then she handed it to #1. "This came for us this morning. I forgot ta give it to you, #1."

All stopped to listen as the leader read it aloud. "'Greetings to the Kids Next Door. I have a nasty little surprise for you. Your clubhouse is doomed at 4 PM sharp. Signed, Amy Baron.'" He stowed the note in his own pocket. "Uh, anybody have a clock?"

No one did, but such couldn't stop #5 who instead observed the sky. Two and a half studious seconds preceded a jolt. "Uh oh," she said.

"What?" #4 wondered, "What uh oh?"

"It's exactly 4 PM, just like the letter said," was the answer. All faces fell slack. Nobody heard possible noises from said assault, but then again it was probably a quiet one. The Sector V Treehouse already collapsed once due to the Delightful Children's Really Really Incredibly Destructive Machine with a second such occasion coming close time and time again; the KND group would prefer diminishing the cycle.

"Oh, criminy," #1 moaned. The others immediately sped off while he activated his footwear jets, surpassing his friends only seconds later. All soon reached the Uno residence's front yard armed to the teeth and expecting an immediate battle. But nothing came; not so much as a single laser blast from any of their own base of operations' guns.

"Okay, where's the fight?" #4 wondered.

"Maybe it's a sneak attack," #2 suggested, "Maybe they're hiding inside or somewhere outside."

"Another double-side view," #1 said, "Keep your eyes peeled, everyone." Still, nothing came.

"I say that so-called threat was jus' somethin' ta get our attention," #5 said, "Kinda like how those bullies crossed our path yesterday. Why don' we jus' go back to what we was doin'?"

"Perhaps you're right, #5," #1 decided, "But still, we better do a clean sweep of my property to make sure." At that, something did then happen.

"I hear something," #3 said, cupping a hand to one ear.

"You hear a lot," #4 said.

"No, I hear it, too," #2 joined in, "It sounds like…the buzzing of a plane. The Shinden, if I'm not mistaken."

"I take back what I said," #1 said, "Kids Next Door, battle stations!" All headed inside the treehouse and maintained their positions. But rather than attack, the airplane flew around and 'wrote' some words with its exhaust. The confused Sector V returned outside to observe it better. Confusion gave way to a third round of laughing and blushing when it became clear what was going on and who was behind it. "Lizzie," the team leader sighed. She landed the plane, took off the pilot outfit, walked up to him, and shrugged.

"I couldn't help it. That short poem I wrote earlier just didn't well express the peak of my feelings for you like this one."

"Are you Amy Baron?"

"Nah. She's back at the airport. I tied her up and left her there so I could use this plane to write my poem. My experience flying that one aircraft I crashed into that cake came pretty handy, wouldn't'cha say?" Next came one of the largest, unforgivable mockeries involving their romantic relationship. Each operative read off one stanza at a time.

"''N' is fo' nothin' keepin' him down'," #5 started off.

"''I' is fer his intense life'," #4 added.

"''G' is for his gain vigor which nobody can take away'," #3 mocked.

"''E' is for an excellent friend he is even to those who don't deserve it'," #2 chimed.

"'L' is for our undying love which makes all others look obsolete'," #1 groaned, "You literally shouldn't have, Lizzie."

Huge laughs preceded yet another tease courtesy of the other operatives. "Kissy, kissy!" Even more laughs ensued. Now the spectacled girl would take no more. No wonder #1 couldn't properly appreciate anything she did no matter how large or small. Well, now it stopped right here.

Laughs halted at her shouts. "SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU!" Silence dominated before she cooled down a tidbit. "What's so funny about our relationship? Tell me, 'cause I must've missed something here. You think it's all a big joke? You think he has no life outside of the Kids Next Door? And you call yerselves friends!"

Standing aside, #1 of course felt a different type of anxiety here. "Lizzie…" he began.

"How would you like it if Nigel and me did the same to you? Huh? Wouldn't feel so hot, would it? Didn't think so!"

"Lizzie…"

"I for one have had it with you making fun of us! Why he puts up with the load of you is beyond me! For all we know, you must be jealous!"

"Lizzie!"

Said girl calmed down and meekly faced her boyfriend. "Yes, Nigel?"

"Please; just stop. Enough's enough."

Lizzie was taken aback. "But Nigel…" He held up a hand to cut her off. "I understand." And she headed on home while Sector V retreated back to the treehouse interior, all six feeling downcast.

"Someone tell me what just happened?" #2 wondered.

"Now I feel so hated," #3 complained, #4 and #5 nodding in agreement.

"Then I guess we all need some rest," #1 stated a tad harshly, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure hope tomorrow's a better day." All nodded to that. Not that #1 desired a romantic breakup; he too wished the others could be more understanding.

Back at her house that afternoon, Lizzie sulked in the living room while watching some overlooked action-based TV show. "It's just not enough. Every time I open up to Nigel, those stupid friends of his always ruin it." She did a double take. "I take that back: his stupid friends and that stupid organization. Why doesn't somebody…um…somebody…" Her attention then met the show.

On the screen, a group of four military commandos – strangely resembling #2, #3, #4, and #5 except for voices – stood off against some renegade who looked somewhat like Lizzie. All stood in a field of dead brown grass. "Now you're gonna get it!" the #4 copy threatened. He charged towards the Lizzie copy only to explode by the snap of her fingers.

"Corporal!" the team remainder cried.

Having watched the scene back in real life, Lizzie found a new and rather nasty inspiration. She smirked as the gears in her head turned. "Say. **I** should find a way to eliminate them all. Then I and Nigie can love each other all we want, without anyone getting in the way." Her expression reverted to curiosity. "But let's finish the episode first, see how things turn out."

"I forgot to mention," came her TV counterpart's voice, "Alongside wrestling and mechanics, I've also studied warfare and sound activation. Your friend walked on a mine I carefully placed in the ground, activating when **I** want it to."

"You mean you have mines all over?" the #3 copy asked, a bit nervous.

"Hardly," came the response, "That was the only one, but it doesn't matter."

"Hah!" the #5 clone retorted, "That gives us the advantage. Surround her!" Each commando did just that. "Now!" The #3 doppelganger used a bazooka similar to the real McCoy's T.H.U.M.P.E.R. to confuse the Lizzie copy who was more than ready. She reached for a nearby club-like stick and hit the projectiles – large black marbles – back at her opponent. Unfortunately, this gave #2's twin the opportunity to sneak up from behind and take hold of Lizzie's, making her drop the stick. The female commandos then grabbed her arms.

"Let me go, you meanies, or else you've had it!"

"Which is why we'll remain attached," the #5 twin said.

"You better, or I'll…I'll…" She punched them all away in a fury. "…TEAR YOU APART!" None of the commandos had a chance for recovery before the Lizzie copy picked up the stick once more, knock out each opponent, toss the stick aside, placed them in a row underneath a nearby tree's shadow, and then walked over to said plant. "Goodbye," she crooned, karate-chopping the tree down on them. From the four's would-be viewpoint, only the tree was visible until its fall turned the screen dark. Then came a commercial break.

"Ooooooh," Lizzie declared, ignoring the commercials, "That girl knew her stuff: They never saw it coming. A shame I couldn't record it for note-taking…what am I saying? I can just use my imagination!" She left the couch and entered through the kitchen doorway, returning only seconds later with a notepad and pencil in hand. Situated back on the comfy piece of furniture, Lizzie wasted not a second writing down what she saw. "It's a bit early, but oh well. Okay…mines activated by a specified sound command…open field that appears safe…but they might not fall for that part…and…"

"Now back to the show," came the TV announcer's voice, thereby interrupting the note-taking.

"Wow," Lizzie commented, "Quick commercial break."

In the show, each commando's arms out from underneath the tree struggled a little bit seconds before extinguished life force made them plop onto the ground. The Lizzie imitation smirked in delight. "Now to claim my prize." Having left the area, her horror at what befell the rest of the show's world spread to Lizzie herself. Freedom had become a thing of the past, be it for children or adults. Anyone repelling from doing what authorities expected of them got pestered by abusive soldiers, a few of which even snickered at the sight. "What's going on here? What happened?"

"That's a very good question," came a voice from behind. Lizzie's twin turned and saw a fifth commando resembling #1 (and obviously the leader much like his real-life counterpart) approach her.

"Honey drop!" The Lizzie copy ran forward with arms stretched out ready to embrace but received a shock as her now-former beau smacked them away taking on a spiteful attitude.

"Keep your hands to yourself, thank you very much. And quit calling me honey drop."

"What's the deal?"

"You are, of course. This whole mess is all your fault."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I saw your little fight with my squadron. Because of your actions, people everywhere have become the Bubonic Empire's slaves. All is officially lost no thanks to you."

The Lizzie copy brightened up momentarily. "Aw, that was unnecessary. You didn't need your dumb old friends or that stupid military organization. Now you and I can love each other for the rest of eternity!"

#1's doppelganger's next words destroyed her sentiments. "Wrong. Very wrong. First of all, under law of the Bubonic Empire, nobody is allowed to freely choose their lovers. Only officials can choose for us."

"But…"

"I'm not finished. Second, the four you killed were my friends as well as comrades in battle. If you truly loved me, you'd understand I am entitled to a life with them as well as with you."

The poor female character knew where this was headed. "So, you don't wanna be my boyfriend anymore?"

"Exactly. You're the most inconsiderate person I've ever met in my existence. Life for us all has been made uncomfortable for insurmountable time. No telling how many more casualties will result, either. I'd rather not spend the rest of my life dictated by this corrupt empire alongside that which caused the fall: you." #1's twin walked in another direction as that of Lizzie watched sadly. "Goodbye forever…'dear'." (He practically spat out the last word.)

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The screen then faded into the show's true reality as the character awoke up from what happened to be nothing more than a bad dream. "Wow, what a nightmare." She stared off in the distance before going right back to sleep. A turned-off television courtesy obviously of Lizzie – believing she'd seen enough – reflected her uncomfortable expression. Just a television show, right? No biggie, right? Perhaps dinner might alleviate it.

Unfortunately, that's just not how things turned out later on. Having changed into her sleepwear and the nighttime peering through her bedroom window, Lizzie lay on her bed staring up at the ceiling. Bedroom decorations consisted mostly of pictures of her and #1 either separately or together; no doubt an insinuation that she really had no life outside of home besides her boyfriend. Still, the fact remained things wouldn't change unless she did something. People weren't going to give her more than what she had; she must go out and get it herself. Funny how a simple television show provided massive food for thought. Adult TV producers like that certainly knew how to balance idealism with realism. Lizzie also stopped taking notes and recycled those she'd already written down. "This calls for a more reasonable solution." She yawned. "But it's too late now. I'll start tomorrow morning." Lizzie then placed her spectacles upon her bedside table, turned off the light, and went to sleep.

"Hope everything's okay," #1 wondered, taking his own lonely stroll along the sidewalk. Two days had passed after Lizzie's rebuke upon the other operatives. Nothing besides patrols containing minor adult-kid riots and some paperwork outlined the time in between, although #1 did notice his girlfriend acting rather quiet and avoiding everything else. Something was up, hence his visit to her house. "Here goes nothing." A deep sigh preceded a stand on the front stoop followed by a knock on the door. "Lizzie? Are you home?"

No response just yet. #1 even thought of leaving right away until thumping footsteps from inside made him retain his position. Lizzie indeed answered but barely felt surprised. "Nigel?" she squeaked

Calm wind rushed past the two lovebirds staring eye to eye as if they hadn't seen each other for eons. And frankly, when it came to their mutual trueness, two days between this and the last acquaintance was eons. Seconds went by until #1 resumed the conversation. "Hello, Lizzie. Everything good?"

"As good as it gets, I'm sure. And you?"

"Likewise. You've been awfully quiet and evasive the last couple of days."

Lizzie shrugged. "I have my reasons. Nothing bad, I can assure you."

"Of course. Care for a nice walk together?"

"Never thought you'd ask."

More silence outlined said walk's first thirty or so steps, with #1 again eventually resuming their talk. "You say you have your reasons avoiding everyone lately. Care to explain, or is now not the time?"

"No, I'm ready. My strange behavior is due in part because I've become a more understanding person now."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I did some thinking the past two days about you, me, your friends, and even researched the Kids Next Door a bit further. Alongside realizing the organization's serious necessity, a little bird and my argument with your friends taught me that I should give you more space if I indeed loved you. I shouldn't just force this on you and humiliate you like I have."

#1 couldn't've felt more pleased of his girlfriend. "You're very understanding. Is it any wonder I love you the same?"

"My sentiments exactly. And I'm sorry for the way I've acted in the past. It's just that one incident at the carnival which turned my love for you into obsession and concern which is hard to let go of."

"Well, don't take all the blame. I shouldn't've just denied it like that." #1 lowered his voice a tinge and directed his next words to no one in particular. "Then again, the others probably would've laughed anyway. But still…"

"Yes?" Lizzie picked up, "But still…?"

#1's normal voice level returned. "But still, they're actually not so bad once you get to know 'em."

"Perhaps. Kuki sure seems welcoming, and Hoagie might be. Though, I ain't so sure about Abigail or Wallabee. How can you stand them?"

"Just give 'em a chance. They don't understand now, but I'm sure they will someday. And I'd still like to keep our relationship alive if you're willing."

"You better believe it. I wouldn't give you up for the world's most expensive ruby, and I read somewhere that rubies are the most valuable gemstones rather than diamonds, contrary to popular belief."

"Huh. That's the first anyone's told me." Then a disturbance far ahead interrupted the happy moment. #1 reluctantly gazed toward it, wishing it hadn't occurred. "Well…I guess I better move." Lizzie playfully shoved his shoulder. "Hm?"

"Go get 'em, hero. Give 'em trouble."

#1 gave her a departing, determined smile. "You can count on it."

Lizzie admired her departing boyfriend as he disappeared into the distance and sighed happily. "Nigel…" And only time knew where it all headed from here.

End Transmission


	4. Operation: QUAFF

Note: Concerns show's events from the start on up to SATURN.

**Q**uarantine  
**U**gly  
**A**mbrosia  
**F**east  
**F**ast

The Kids Next Door (mainly Sector V) and their enemies had been through a lot as of late. New faces good, bad, and plain confused were appearing rather quickly on the scene. Some experiences felt more pleasant than others though it depended on one's viewpoint. Amongst circumstances like an illegal fast food joint serving up children as the meals; the school year extended to 52 weeks a year (although some purposely defied it); Rainbow Monkeys gravitating toward Saturn; and much more, the easier days were nothing short of ending. In fact, recent times also saw a little more infighting amongst various allegiances. Just about everybody around had at least one enemy usually through someone they once got along well with. And relationships with whom they continued maintaining ties grew just as lopsided. When things would again be like old times no one could determine. But interest in such remained absent according to Sector V's activity today. "Look at 'em go," #4 declared. All except #2 were seated in the treehouse living room watching television. #4 sat on the main couch with #1 on his right side and #3 to the left. #5 preferred an armchair, seated horizontally from #3.

"Man, jus' watchin' this makes me wanna puke," #5 said, "How can anyone stand that?" All viewed some new sports show featuring hungry competitors inhaling dangerously large amounts of dessert gelatin and fruit pieces. A yellow horizontal strip across the screen's bottom edge displayed the show's title – Jelly-O Games – in magenta. Only #4 boasted obvious interest with #5 irked, #3 nervous, and #1 curious.

"One must practice hard to inhale 20 tons of gelatin along with 22 banana bits, 15 strawberries, 10 orange slices, and a tall glass of milk," #1 noted, "Sheesh; makes our training simulations look redundant."

That's when #2 entered the room, carrying a bowl of fruit blended in with sour cream; whipped cream; and marshmallows in one hand and a spoon in the other. "Did I miss anything?" he asked, taking a seat next to #3.

"Tarantula Mako left because he was choking on some orange peel, and Scorpion Yoc got a weak stomach."

"Just goes ta show ya," #4 said, shaking his head, "Some people can't take it."

"Oh?" #5 teased, "Mr. Tough Guy doesn't remember his falls?"

#4 waved off her remark, careful not to smack anyone, and replied, "Whatever." This was one time he'd rather not let an argument ruin his show. #5 just shrugged, smiled, and continued watching. Two spoonfuls into #2's snack seconds later, #3 first noticed the fruity allure and glanced her heavyset comrade's way.

"Snack turn out okay, #2?" she inquired.

"Yep," was the answer, "Want a bite?" #2 neared the bowl #3's way; she pulled out a piece of orange and a marshmallow (staining her sleeve in the process) and placed it her mouth.

"Mmmm," #3 continued.

"How come ya didn't put any sugar in it?" #4 asked.

"It tastes just fine as is," #2 replied, "Sugar would've made it too sweet."

"Hah," #5 disagreed, "#5 never tasted anything 'too sweet'. But it's your choice."

"Adults say fruit's good for you, but that doesn't mean you can't complain about it," #2 added off-topic, popping another spoonful into his mouth right after. Another few seconds' worth of silence (save for the television's sounds) passed before #1 resumed talk.

"Who do you think's gonna win? I place my bets on Cabcadba."

"That ninny's turtle soup," #5 disagreed, "#5 says the glory belongs ta Diametec."

"Yer both wrong," #4 chimed, "I'm rootin' for WLT."

"Wrong again," #2 said, pointing at the screen, "Bug Lover's the champ."

"My congratulations to you as winner of the Jelly-O Games," the announcer said, giving a trophy to the hand of an off-screen competitor. #1 then turned off the TV via remote rather than await anything further, and all stood up off their seats to stretch and speculate (#2 of course had to set down his bowl and spoon by a couch corner, making sure to prevent an accident).

"That was fun," #4 said, "Now what?"

"All that dessert-based action's made me hungry," #1 announced, "What say we go whip up our own gelatin dessert?"

"No, even better," #3 suggested, "Let's make more of…uh…#2's snack. #2, what was that stuff?"

"Glad you asked, #3," #2 spoke, "It's called ambrosia fruit salad. I just got the recipe off the Internet one day; it sounded good, so I tried it. We just need some sour cream, whipped cream, oranges, bananas, marshmallows, pineapples, and coconuts, and we'll be all set."

"Eh, I think I'll go for the gelatin anyway," #1 decided, "But you two go on ahead and do what you like."

"Okay!" #3 said, "C'mon, #2!" She pulled said friend's arm, and the pair rushed into the kitchen.

"I'm with ya, #1," #4 said.

"Alright then." The two boys headed towards the kitchen themselves; #1 soon stopped short at a disturbed #5's immobility with #4 following suit. "Something wrong, #5? Are you coming?"

"Nah, y'all go on without me," #5 answered, "I ain't interested."

"Um…okay," #1 continued. But #4 lingered for a moment.

"What's yer problem?" #4 asked, "Don'tcha wanna join the fun? Or are ya still upset about…say, Valerie? Or what? What's the deal?"

#5 shook her head as she sat back down in the armchair. Funny that #4 should mention Valerie; the were-poodle snob had been inactive since they and #2 last encountered her and defeated her with the blond boy's awful homework. But #5's thoughts lay elsewhere. "No, toughie. It's just dat the Jelly-O Games and, fer some unknown reason, #2's ambrosia reminded #5 of both Stewpan and Slamwitch. Get the idea? Gramma Stuffum…stuffed bellies…large amounts o' food…"

"Aw, what's ol' Granny got anything to do with it?" a defying #4 said, "She only cares about ham, broccoli, mushrooms, olives, cauliflower, and all that cruddy junk. She hates dessert; if anything, you'd think Gramma Stuffum would try ta get the show cancelled."

"Oh yeah? What if she uses it fer inspiration?"

#4 crossed his arms. "Couldn't happen in a million years."

"I wouldn't be too sure, #4. Time's full of suprises."

"You go ahead and think what you wish, but a gelatin sports dome awaits me." And #4 went to the kitchen. A cross-armed #5 now couldn't make up her mind whether she was right or maybe just anxious. Still, telling people like #4 these things was like putting together an automobile without a welding torch. Go figure.

And as it turns out, #5 couldn't have been more right. Dark rooms naturally comprised an abandoned food-packing factory downtown. Souls outside gave it no second thought whereas those inside schemed. Yellow and orange glows from one room deep within the structure illuminated areas where sunlight couldn't reach. None other than Gramma Stuffum – accompanied of course by Liver, the Onion twins, and a few others – stood in that room watching a cup full of brownish-green liquid gently boil on a portable stove situated on an old crate. The room was quite barren up until now. Only the occupants; cup and stove; three rickety wooden chairs; another portable stove, albeit on wheels and roughly 3 feet long and wide; a cauldron by the door; and various containers in one corner holding various ingredients currently filled the area.

Anyone tall enough to see it noticed the liquid do more than just boil, even slosh around in that container as if alive and actually rise little by little. None looked anticipative greater than Gramma Stuffum herself. "So, Granny?" Liver queried a bit later, "What exactly are we waiting for? What's cooking?"

"First lesson I learn is work by self and not with anyone. Yet, I must admit Delightful Children had interesting idea about food eating children instead of other way around."

"You said it. Slamwitch really kicked those kids' keesters. Ooh, a tongue twister." The Onion twins just giggled. "Well, until that big hamster ruined everything." And silent frowning replaced the joyful giggles.

"No consequence. Fortunately, I had backup plans." Gramma Stuffum withdrew photographs from her pocket displaying infrared images of Sector V blasting the former sandwich juggernaut's innards. Lime-green areas on the kids themselves amongst the sea of red and orange hinted something pleasing to the senior. "Infrared cameras I installed in Slamwitch came handy. It's good thing I salvaged pictures before sanitation department cleaned up mess. Take looksie."

Liver accepted the photographs and looked them over, with the two onions peering over what he had for shoulders. The green amorphous shapes dominated a small section underneath the lower right surface of each operative's stomach. "Hmm. Looks like they swallowed too much lime-flavored chewing gum…or an alien life form planted its egg inside them which hatched and is now maturing."

Gramma Stuffum took back the photographs and put them in her pocket again. "Second guess is closest. Remember Stewpan?"

"Indeed, I do. Why?"

The old lady smirked. "I researched sample of Stewpan's remains. Whatever Delightful Children poured inside her is special kind of formula that goes undetected except by strongest cameras. It matures in secret over time by absorbing bits of host's life force."

"Is that so? Well, what happens when time's up?"

"Then comes harvest. Even though it can't kill hosts, whoever harnesses liquid gains powerful energy source. Imagine what one can do with such power."

"Amazing! Does anyone else know?"

"Not that I recall, but I keep it that way as long as possible." At that, Gramma Stuffum turned off the smaller stove believing the formula to be finished. "Sample is weak; heat makes grow." With an oven mitt on one hand, she removed the container and walked over toward the cauldron to pour it in. Then she tossed mitt and smaller container aside. "First step complete." Gramma Stuffum next switched on the larger stove while her followers placed the cauldron atop. After that, everyone dumped in the many ingredients.

Liver coughed as some ingredients fogged up the air until he realized the accompanying sweet aroma. "Hey, I smell sugar." He peered into the cauldron but noticed nothing he normally recognized as lunch or dinner material. "Bananas? Shredded coconut? Gelatin powder? Whipped cream? Uh, Granny, what kinda dish are we cooking up?"

"I detest dessert but in this case make exception. It is something called ambrosia."

"Ambrosia?"

"Yes. Dessert made mostly of fruit. Maybe this is one time adults and childrens can have agreement. Anyway, I am getting better as I go along. This will be giant blob attracted to stomachs containing whoever swallowed pieces of Stewpan no matter what age. For record, I am reworking that one plan so it cannot fail this time." The stuff suddenly bubbled over the cauldron, emptying it while also shorting out the larger stove. Sparks flew out that would've ignited the building had that one room not been constructed fully of flame-retardant porcelain. "Uh oh! Take cover!" Gramma Stuffum grabbed Liver and Onions as she scrambled out and chose a corner down the hallway to hide behind. The resulting explosion decimated the room's two front walls alongside incinerating everyone and every loose object in its way. Gramma Stuffum's other creations just weren't fortunate.

The remaining quartet walked out of their hiding place down a messy hallway when the smoke cleared. "Is it over?" Liver wondered. Sticky sloshing from within the charred room answered his question.

"Ah, she is ready," an expectant Gramma Stuffum announced. Upon this, out slinked a melted mountainous shape whose head nearly touched the ceiling save for a few centimeters. Huge white ribbons spiraled around a vertical, rugged-looking, ovoid fuchsia mold. Various fruits and fruit pieces – banana bits, shredded coconut, orange peel and slices, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, cherries, and pineapple – dotted the creature. One large eye stood in the geographical center of what she had for a head, with no visible mouth seen.

"Where am I?" the creature wondered, "Who am I? And what's this tingly feeling inside?"

"I call you Glob," Gramma Stuffum explained, "I made you from brown liquid that is inside others. Tingly feeling means you must find whoever has swallowed same brown liquid and stuff bellies to certain limit."

"Are you my mother or something?"

"That is correct; I am Gramma Stuffum. Now go satisfy tingly feeling."

"I'm on it."

As Glob headed to the nearest exit, leaving a sticky fuchsia trail in her wake, Liver felt curiosity coming on. "Granny, how'll she know who swallowed the brown stuff and who hasn't? And what'd you mean by 'limit'? And how can you be sure she won't make the same mistake as Stewpan?"

"Ah, someone's full of questions today. Brown stuff inside Glob acts as homing beacon, showing who swallowed Stewpan and who not. This also means she can't stuff anyone who didn't swallow. Plus, I already said Glob's sample is weak because water diluted it." Gramma Stuffum grew a bit uneasy. "Of course, this may also mean she won't last, so plan is long shot."

Glob appeared to have grown a few more feet taller once outside the packing plant. As Gramma Stuffum already said, no age group was exempt here. "Hungry little mouths eager for dessert! Feeding time!" The monster shot little streams making their way into any mouth that sampled Stewpan once before; finding most if not all turned out very easy. Victims lay upon the ground with inflated stomachs. Anyone not stricken either remained ignored or (particularly those resisting) got a lash across one cheek. Some ignored either ran away without a second thought or stared on wondering why they hadn't been hit.

Behind a nearby corner, a group shrouded by building shadows watched it all with discontent. One might assume they knew how Glob functioned and were ready to counterattack. "What a lovely display," the members sarcastically whispered together. A flick from one's shadowy fingers sent a seed-like object flying into Glob's backside. Once it sunk into the magenta inner mass, a funky green glow paralyzed her for at least a second. Glob's eye widened at the sensation while bystanders grew increasingly confused.

The glow then stopped, and Glob shrugged shoulder-like projections. "Oh well." She shot another stream into one more person's mouth. "Mmm, so yummy! Onward, ho!" As she left the subdivision, the hidden group nodded their heads in satisfaction and moved on to who knew where.

"I don't think we've got enough ingredients to spare," #3 informed #2 back at the Sector V Treehouse. The kitchen didn't look as messy as someone might expect during food preparation. Said pair stood on the left side making their ambrosia while #1 and #4 were positioned opposite handling gelatin. One large bowl for each project – both operating well without the other interfering – had reached overflow limits.

"Or a large enough bowl," #2 added.

"Guess that's what happens when we triple the recipe," #1 said.

"Can we use some o' the cheese room's equipment?" #4 asked.

"Afraid not," the leader answered, "We still need it should an emergency require its necessity. You can never be too careful."

"Kids Next Door, to the control room!" #5's voice boomed over the intercom.

"Hey, what's the deal?" #1 complained, "That's my course of action."

"Figures," #2 commented, "We'll just hafta do this later." The quartet abandoned their cuisine projects and rushed over to the location of the group lieutenant, careful not to spill anything.

"Okay, #5," a stern #1 said, "I hope you have a good reason for taking over command like that."

"Looksie at da screen," #5 stated, pointing at #65.3's mug.

"You called?" #3 said.

"Glad you could join," #65.3 transmitted, "We got ourselves another big one thanks to ol' Gramma Stuffum: Another big one made of some fuchsia and white stuff and covered in fruit is stuffing mouths at random. Even stranger, it's chosen a specific attack pattern that'll require further analysis."

"How so?" #2 asked.

"That's why I said it'll require further analysis," #65.3 continued, a bit annoyed, "Think of it like so: It meets a group of kids or adults; stuffs one or two members; ignores the others; then heads off and does the same all over again. Obviously, the victims share something in common we haven't figured out yet."

"Is it on its way here?" #4 questioned.

"Probably. It's still moving around downtown searching for more specific victims, but it could change its mind at any time."

"Thanks for the info, #65.3," #1 saluted, "Sector V, out." And the screen went blank.

#5 leaned up against one wall, cross-armed and unsurprised. "Ain't dat always the way," she said, "I knew it was a matter of time before Gramma Stuffum bent da rules."

"Fine, I made a mistake," #4 said, "Big deal, let's go take care of the dirtbag."

"That's putting it mildly, #4," #1 said, "Out we go!" The group rushed toward their hangar, making sure not to forget turning on the automatic defenses; a hovercraft's turbulence outside tickled the foliage before they blasted off.

Back in town, scattered victims either continued laying still or stood up again on wobbly haunches. Various viewpoints would've construed that Glob wiped out half the city's population. Many streets, various sides of various buildings, and countless loose objects sustained sticky residues that now began to harden. None dared sample or even touch the residues, which also prevented any short-circuited electronics from combusting or sparking. Glob's head reached up only to what might be most skyscrapers' hips if they were human as she headed all the further toward more city corners. "That handles the main highways and divisions," she muttered, "Now, where do I…" Glob stopped short at a faint buzzing; she turned around and saw Sector V heading her way. Her face gained a sneaky expression. "Ooh, the main course. Saves me trouble."

Aboard the ship, seeing the aftereffects made the group queasy (none more than #3). "Ugh," the youngest member whimpered, "Too…much."

"Neither the first nor last time," #5 commented, "What are we anymore, comic book heroes? Stewpan, Laminitis, those so-called firefighters, so on an' so on…this makes, what, the seventh time? What's with all these missions?"

"Going my way?" came Glob's voice, directing Sector V's attention forward. The ship stopped at #2's command and hovered as opposing factions stared eye to eye.

"What is that pile o' crud?" #4 sputtered.

"What indeed," #1 agreed. Glob's signature aroma was all but blocked out by smog from certain buildings' smokestacks, but a hint entered one of the ship's vents. This and #1's fingers working a keyboard provided a decent analysis of her physique. The leader took out the printed schematics and studied them over. "We can already see it's covered in fruit. And this states that the creature's also composed of…animal bones and skin…hydrochloric acid…glycerin…sugar…pectin…emulsions?"

"In other words, gelatin and ambrosia," #5 translated.

"How about that," a thoughtful #2 said, "The same thoughts that occurred to us also paid Gramma Stuffum a visit. I guess that's one way of exchanging ideas without trying."

"Okay, I'm bored," Glob stated, "Open wide!" Another sprouted tentacle attempted penetrating the ship and stuffing the operatives if not for #2's abrupt maneuverability. Hyperactive projections jutted out across the scene like a booby trap, trying to knock them down but continually missing. One eventually pierced the vehicle in three explosions and forced the occupants to evacuate without parachutes. Splashing through other projections without swallowing a single bit thankfully lightened their fall; they crashed upon the ground sustaining nothing greater than some bruises. Glob paused her onslaught momentarily to taunt. "What's the matter? Don't you like dessert?"

"You are the worst dessert we ever saw in our lives!" #3 retorted.

"We don't know what you're up to, whoever you are, but it stops now!" #1 said, "Friends, let's give her everything we've got!"

"Roger!" the others chorused.

An intrigued Glob watched as their withdrawn weapons loaded her torso with all sorts of ammunition mustered, from segregated projectiles to straight-on blasts. Blasting her head-on soon gave way to maneuvering about and blasting every possible spot on her 'physique'. Amidst the clouds, Glob only shook her head. "Pity." Rapid maneuvers returned as she retaliated, jabbing and lashing. Much filled the scene. Every time a limb targeted an operative, he or she blasted it to fragments; every time a limb got blasted, the fragments retracted back to Glob's main mass.

"I always wanted ta play the Jelly-O games," #4 muttered amongst the fray, "And unfortunately, I'm gettin' what I wanted. Oh well, anything's better than all my latest humiliation." Previous days hadn't been kind especially to #4. One failure after another saw him unofficially degraded from a melee expert to treehouse babysitter. He'd of course accomplished a few victories, just not the desirable kind in his eyes which only resulted in further humiliation. Glob's presence might alleviate it for most if not all.

And according to the other operatives, the feeling was half-mutual. They saw little difference here than in past weeks. Constant momentum gave none time to properly absorb new shock in the form of Glob growing four more sizes (no doubt the same chemical's side effects kicking in) without pausing the assault before bystanders realized it. Overshadowed conflict below to her seemed nothing short of a defensive ant colony. "Time out!" The fight stopped at that with limbs retracted and Sector V nervous yet determined.

"Don't listen!" #1 commanded, "Fire together while she's static!" All opened fire together on the monster's eyeball, splattering though not making a mess; any droplets the blasts shoved immediately disappeared. Glob indeed seemed to wobble backward like she might fall over any second but stood firm.

"You got plenty fight in you," Glob spoke through the commotion, aiming to mean business, "This calls for drastic measures." Before the team could act, five new limbs bearing oval, elongated heads abruptly swallowed all up, leaving nothing except dropped weaponry and halted firepower. Each operative slid down the temporary gullets, which boasted the feel of plasma combined with a waterslide.

"Let me go, you walking pile of purple trash!" #4's threatening voice echoed.

"I forgot somethin': You're payin' for the ship!" #5 added. All reunited in a plasma sanctum crashing into one another but just as quickly separated by the chamber's properties. Intermingling air pockets let them communicate albeit in dim echoes.

"Not to worry," came Glob's taunting voice from above, "Your pilot Glob will hold you spunky youngsters tight." Oncoming exterior views – past the bands of whipped cream and sour cream through the magenta blurriness – alongside rumbling indicated Glob's continued procession along the pavement.

"For your information, we are worried!" #2 retorted.

"You cannot hold us in here forever!" #1 added, "We will escape!"

"What's that?" Glob mockingly dismissed, "You're feeling hungry? Well, here're some little treats to keep you going. Happy eats!" As all withdrew extra weapons from their pockets, countless elongated buggers resembling paramecia-dragonfly hybrids and each the average size of a planarian swarmed about and created an impenetrable spherical prison. Blasts incinerated some but didn't free the group. Next, a select few neared Sector V and attached themselves to cheek, arm, or forehead upon contact. Opened fire ceased, and dropped weapons got crunched into pebbles.

"Yeech!" #4 declared, "What are these nasties?"

"From the looks of things, I'll assume they're Glob's enzymes," #2 deduced, "And those of you paying close attention in advanced grade-school biology know what enzymes do."

"Oopsy, my bad," Glob said, "Oh well, at least it limits your options."

#3 grabbed an enzyme and ate it. "Mmm! Tastes like coconut with a dash of frozen strawberries!" One bite after another saw the girl's teammates eventually join in.

"These do taste good," #5 noted, yanking one off her ear, "Better than chocolate." Then she muttered, "Can't believe that came outta my mouth."

As Sector V enjoyed the unexpected snack, Glob soon reached a section of abandoned retail stores. Her head loomed over the rooftops with her pupil scanning around but finding nothing before she backed away. Exasperation and exhaustion filled her face. "This is dumb. Where're the rest of those knuckleheads I need ta stuff? How many more are there? Bah; some homing beacon that turned out to be." Glob's eye widened as a ticklish sensation spread through her. "Ooh. Oh my." Having the cause tucked deep inside – the snacking operatives – obviously meant she knew the deal. "No matter," Glob muttered, "Doesn't matter how many they eat, I'll just make more."

#1 heard this clearly regardless of decreased voice tone. Indeed, for every enzyme an operative stuffed into his or her mouth, six more appeared ready. "Stop eating, team," came the dejected command with the others complying, "What's the point? We got ourselves an endless cycle here."

"And it took you this long to figure it out?" Glob smarted off, "Face it, fools, you're stuck. You can't stop me, pure and simple." Unbeknownst to the team, the monster's smirk (if one could call it a smirk) indicated the reverse psychology of her words. They knew the only way out just like she and Gramma Stuffum wanted.

Inside the enzyme-based sphere, a new difficulty known as suffocation impressed the team that they must decide fast. The bugs were seriously cutting off their oxygen supply. "Accck!" #5 gagged, "I can't…breathe!"

"What a…choice!" #1 complained, "Do what…they want us…to…have bugs hang…from our…noses and…such…or…zonk out!"

"Or…is…it?" #4 refuted, "Not ta…take over…command again…but there's…one…way out!"

"You…don't mean…" #3 trailed off.

"Sure do!…If…the…Jelly-O…competitors…could do it…why not…us?"

"Very…well, then!" #1 decided, "Let's all…"

"…stuff ourselves!" #2 interrupted. In a rush of huffing and puffing, the kids pursed their mouths; stuck out their bellies; and sucked in a wild mix of plasma, enzymes, and otherwise. On the outside, Glob busily proceeded with her mission and paid no attention to her hostages until one more funny feeling came up.

"And so passes along another empty sector. At this rate…huh?" Glob jiggled like a pure gelatin dessert as she felt herself shrink down at least three or four feet. Back inside, the force of the kids' suction power had made the swarm scatter; now the chamber resembled messy speckled wallpaper. Such also let a bit more oxygen flow in. The kids chewed and chewed and swallowed, relieving their puffed cheeks.

"Delicious," #3 said, "I take back any bad things I said earlier."

"Yeah, think about it," #4 continued, "A chance ta test our limits. End the mission and the day with a bang. Make it count. Get the idea?"

"Imagine that," #1 stated ironically, "Another occasion in which we gotta do what our foe desires in order to win."

Rippling plasma and wiggling enzymes reminded the team that the job wasn't done. "C'mon, friends!" #2 said, "Stick out that torso and suck it all in!"

"Nicely put, #2," #5 replied, slightly impressed.

A second intake saw Glob (still on the move) shrink down some more feet. "Ooh," she commented, "I'm having a shrink spurt." Further, shorter intakes slowly reduced her to the height of a two-story convenience store. But Glob pressed on, not minding in the least. Come one point, the group paused for a rest feeling distraught at the overwhelming job. Belches escaped their lips.

"Darn it," #3 complained, "I can't keep going."

"Me neither," #2 agreed, "And I'm the biggest eater here."

"C'mon, team," #1 coached, pained by a headache, "We can't stop now. Glob's almost finished."

"No more need ta make our own desserts," #4 noted, "But what're we gonna do with 'em when we get back? We can't just waste good ingredients."

"How 'bout we worry about it after the mission?" #5 returned. So continued the sucking. Not far away, Gramma Stuffum and her foodstuff sidekicks watched the spectacle atop an apartment building cheering Glob on.

"That's right, Kids Next Door!" the old lady crooned, "Do what you must! Take the whole thing!"

"Go, Glob!" Liver added, "Go, Glob!" The two onions just screeched in delight. Down below, the same unknown individuals who'd flung the seed-like projectile into said creature agreed a bit, much to their unseen chagrin.

"Yes, Kids Next Door," they whispered, "Do as she says." They then looked up toward the roof-based quartet. "And you four enjoy the rain while it lasts."

"Oh, just my luck!" Glob squealed, eyeing some panicking young men and women. More streams reduced a fraction of them to inflated mounds on the pavement. Glob then leaned against a building, wondering where to continue from there. "Now, then. I can't trace any more people. What next?" As Sector V removed another inch or so off her persona, the monster's eye then caught sight of their treehouse in the distance. "Well, well. Guess I'll just tear up the place…starting with…oh, who gives a toss? My, what fancy architecture."

Interior aftershocks only partially disrupted the team's snacking. Their progress so far indeed disabled Glob's enzymatic regeneration, but no one knew how long it might last. "C'mon, all!" #1 stressed, "Suck faster! Be the raptors!" So they did just that, sucking it in even faster. Demolition shrunk at the same rate as Glob: Being smaller meant smaller destructive tendencies like meager vandalism. As the mound-shaped juggernaut's remains disappeared into their oral cavities, Sector V stood revealed with their cheeks full hopefully for the last time those few hours. Glob was a special creation if she fit in their cheeks diaphanously.

The group chewed her up while survivors watched on in shock and daze. In fact, a few also got leery and immediately ran away not wanting to watch any more. Once Sector V swallowed the stuff, remaining residue throughout the city shrunk as well and just evaporated. Anything short-circuited remained how it was like the residue continued disabling combustion. Belches echoing throughout brought all stuffed bellies (those of Sector V included) back to their original sizes though all still felt woozy and pained. Someone then walked up to the KND operatives asking an inevitable question. "How did it taste?"

"Fruity," #5 declared.

"You could've just asked someone lying around who Glob already hit," #2 pointed out. The bystander just shrugged and moved on like everybody else. Sector V – holding their weak stomachs – headed back to the treehouse correctly assuming their job finished while other officials cleaned up from there.

"Go figure," #4 commented, "All that sucking, and no trophy for our efforts."

"Tell me about it," #2 agreed, "The Jelly-O folks got nothing on us. We rock!"

"Good thing the eyeball was one big marshmallow," #3 noted, "I hate ta…"

"Please," #5 interrupted, "Don't even say it. #5's got enough pain in her belly as is without the slightest touch makin' her blow chunks."

"Look at the bright side, team," #1 reassured, "At least this walk will help burn off the extra calories." The others nodded their heads in agreement.

By the time Sector V departed, Gramma Stuffum and her clique were also ready to call it a day. None noticed the clandestine group below pressing a button to a handheld mechanism that unleashed a robot suit around them. "And there goes Glob," Liver started, "Popped down five gullets one gulp after another, just like that."

"Of course," Gramma Stuffum replied, "I already said that was point of plan from start."

"Swell. So, what now?"

"Now we head home and occupy selves until dice roll in our favor and right moment comes for harvest. I have special bean goulash I can't wait to try."

"Leaving so soon?" came five familiar voices. A shadow loomed over the quartet, who turned back and faced the unknown group inside a simple-looking robot, shrouded in a large black sheet. One hand pulled it away to reveal none other than the Delightful Children From Down The Lane. Liver and Onions hid behind their maker.

Gramma Stuffum herself felt a bit nervous but didn't show it. "Um…hello?" she replied.

"We know all about your not-so-secret plan, Gramma Stuffum," the quintet continued, "You know, the same one with the liquid we poured into Stewpan that you stole for yourself and manipulated into that idiot dessert thing? And there won't be any 'harvest time' on our watch."

"What do you mean?"

"We flung a special antidote capsule into Glob that counteracted the effects of our one chemical. Believe us, it wasn't the easiest decision. That was one out of the two last samples; both formulas were destroyed in earlier incidents, or we'd execute the same plan." Gramma Stuffum withdrew pot and mixing spoon and began stirring in preparation, confident that her mutant food army would serve her well as always. But the DC cared less. "Did we mention we diluted the other capsule in the city water supply? By tomorrow night, those affected before we hit Glob will be rid of your clutches." Their sinister giggling gave way to battle. Gramma Stuffum gave everything she had, but the DC's machine repelled it all. The scene reeked of beef chowder and cheese rice before the quintet departed with some closing words. "Next time you better think twice before stealing our ideas! We don't like copyright infringement."

And there stood Gramma Stuffum, Liver, and the Onion twins looking ahead for a few hours. "Oh, eggplant," the senior sighed, shaking her head, "Some people just don't appreciate gourmet home cooking."

End Transmission


	5. Operation: OILER

Note: Occurs shortly after SPANKENSTINE.

**O**il  
**I**s  
**L**eaving  
**E**vil  
**R**esidue

Only the light from Father's eyes and the room's chasms permeated the darkness of his less-than-welcoming private lair as he sat tall sorting through various papers on a small desk. Being a more hardworking individual today, casual amusement like another of Mr. Boss' parties wasn't currently in the shadowy man's schedule. His position as a dictator and businessman obviously didn't come easy; he must pay bills and overall maintain a heroic façade from most people's viewpoints. There existed room for neither failure nor error despite that he'd received plenty of both in the past months. "Hmmm…electric bill…foreign imports bill…heating costs…" Father tossed aside a random paper. "Junk…" His eyes widened at another. "Oooooh. Gave those two nuisances payback, I see. I must remember to pin medals on the entire squad."

"Beg pardon, sir," came Jenkins' voice.

An irked Father cocked an eye toward the butler standing in the doorway. "Yes, Jenkins?" he growled.

Jenkins walked up to his superior and handed over another paper. "This report just came in."

Father accepted it and shooed Jenkins away without thanking him. The former's eyes glanced across each line. "People getting suspicious…doubt…changing minds…" Father's eyes widened. "WHAT?

In the mansion living room, the Delightful Children sat on the couch staring at the wallpaper of course feeling bored. No evil schemes came to mind all day, and Father never let them enjoy much of anything. "Fifty threads…fifty-one threads…"

"CHILDREN!" Father's interruptive, booming command snapped them out of boredom and brought them up on all their feet. "GET IN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

"C-coming, Father!" they stammered, immediately heading his way. Then came the inevitable question once they stood inside his lair. "You called?"

Father stood up from his seat as well and turned back to face them eye to eye. Seething, he must control himself or the words wouldn't come out right. "You should take a good look at this report Jenkins gave me. No doubt due to those two failures' actions, our public support is slowly drying up. More people are catching on and wanting nothing to do with us and our associates. Do you know what this means?"

"Uhh…public rebellion?"

"And wasted resources, meaning we'll be easy pickings for those blasted Kids Next Door! Or, one of the other villains might try pulling rank on me, something I cannot allow." Father's flames ignited meagerly but enough to incinerate the report until they cooled down alongside his temper. "But, there is hope. We just need to make ourselves look as good as possible in front of the general public once again."

Recent experiences made the DC apprehensive hearing their parental guardian speak this way, but they knew they must continue listening. "What did you have in mind?"

"There's a little gathering in Gardenia Park just a couple miles outside town. Why don't you go on and 'enjoy' yourselves? You're bored, aren't you? And these ecological nutcases at Gardenia Park need all the help they can get."

The DC pondered these words before realizing something. "What happens if we run into Kids Next Dimwits? You aren't suggesting we…?"

Father generated small heat waves without flames. "Believe me, children, I can think of worse things. And I don't like this any better than you, but it's our only option right now."

"Yes, Father." Said man's suit powered down. "But with all due respect, how do you know it'll work a second time? They already saw through our one dinner party."

The shadowy man should've been angry but instead stood tall proudly sticking out his chest. "That's because you're all still novices and not a genius like me. Maybe this time you'll learn to be a lot less obvious. Now, as I was saying…"

Everything outside looked ever promising to anyone truly taking it in. Gray cloudy skies without rain actually instigated a sense of balance rather than the despair most storybooks described. Social conditions had grown much worse for good and evil alike following Glob's rampage but were now fluctuating, almost looking up but not quite there. The town if not the entire world still needed more time to again herald pleasantness from times past. Adult or child, all definitely agreed that none could survive without healthy ecosystems. The Sector V KND operatives were amongst those on a crowded bus ride from town no doubt to Gardenia Park. Sitting in the far back seats, all except #2 felt the enthusiasm mutual throughout the procession. "Never thought I'd say it, but this sure feels good gettin' away from the city today," #4 began, watching the urban background outside transmute into something more natural. The blond boy knew the feeling since he'd been the butt of much ridicule as of late.

"You said it," #1 agreed, "The bus sure is packed."

"And it ain't even Earth Day," #5 added.

"What're we gonna do when we get there?" #3 wondered.

#5 thought a moment. "If #5 recalls correctly, her parents said somethin' about these people reintroducin' native plants and gettin' in what they call natural landscapin'. They say it's healthier an' stuff."

"It is, huh? Oh, I can only imagine how happy da trees, grass, flowers, mosses, and stuff will be when we lend helping hands. Ten, right?"

"Yeah," a downcast #2 said, "Happy."

The others glanced his way. "Somethin' wrong, #2?" #4 asked.

The team pilot just sighed as one name expressed all his disappointment. "Mushi." #1, #4, and #5 just barely learned this morning but understood well. #3 still knew it better than them since the Gilligans dined at the Sanban residence only last night. Her younger sister Mushi had ruined her Posh Party Rainbow Monkey doll during an earlier dinner meeting and got grounded as a result. For revenge against #2, the kindergartener resuscitated it through a machine that transferred Count Spankulot's powers into it but met with failure in the end. Last #2 recalled – alongside his grandmother and the Count taking a shine to each other at #3, Tommy, and Mrs. Gilligan's lackluster expense – a continually vengeful Mushi escaped imprisonment via aid from King Sandy and his cousins. No one knew their present whereabouts yet.

"It's not your fault, #2," #1 assured.

"Yes it is. I couldn't stop her."

#3 placed a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder. "It's not your fault," she repeated, "Don't you worry about Mushi; I know in my heart in the name of all that's decent she'll come back around one day. King Sandy and the Knights of the Round Towel will get theirs for ruining my sister."

"Yeah, worry about it later," #4 announced, "We're practically there." He pointed at a mahogany sign next to the entrance that said in large lemon-yellow type 'Gardenia Park'. Another several minute's worth driving brought everyone into an open field almost completely closed off from the outside by nearly a mile of trees on each side. Picnic tables stood vigil in the distance with people setting up for lunchtime. Scattered souls who'd arrived prior worked hard planting new vegetation while enjoying the excellent outdoor scene. The cloudy sky defied lukewarm weather. Only Sector V – choosing to first observe the scene – remained in the parking lot once the bus left and everybody else moved around.

#3 sighed deeply. "Can't you just see how happy the plants are?"

"Now what're you talking about?" #4 asked as the group trudged forward, "I don't see smiley faces on anyone except all the people."

"Just listen. If you listen long enough, you can feel their emotions. They like the fresh air, the fresh water, the fresh dirt…"

"Are you some kinda plant doctor?"

But before #3 responded to #4's retort, a park ranger met the group. "Hello, kiddos. Need help?"

"As a matter of fact, we do," #1 admitted, "We're a bit lost and don't know where to start first."

"Would you believe us if we said the trees are happy?" #2 added.

"You know it, son," was the reply, "After all, they don't call me a park ranger for nothing. Hey, even the animals are happy."

"I knew it!" #3 exclaimed triumphantly, "I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!"

"Sorry, #4," #2 said, "#3, one; you, zippo."

Seeing #4 snarl, #5 (uncharacteristically wanting to be included in the conversation) decided it best to change the subject. "So, do we get programs or somethin'?"

"By all means." The ranger handed each of them two pieces of paper. "These are your maps and what you may plant at each location. But whatever you're thinking, that doesn't mean it can't be fun. And don't forget the refreshments and games after the planting."

"You sure you're devoted only to your job amongst the plants and animals and nothing else?" #1 inquired.

"Of course. What else could I do? Ah, scratch that. Anyhoo, humans are the environment's greatest fear today, with damaging and often irreversible results. This area's pretty because some of us actually had the heart and nerve to fix things. Can you imagine…never mind. Oh yeah, I almost forgot." She handed them one plastic bag each. "Find any litter on the ground, be sure to pick up and drop it off at the nearest recycling bin or bins."

"And if it's not recyclable?" #5 queried.

"Then it belongs in the trash bins. This project's profit-free and will help save ecosystems everywhere. Have fun!"

"Perhaps," #1 said, still a tad suspicious though keeping calm. Before they could head off toward another section much like the departing ranger, however, a certain eerie chorus stopped them in place.

"Fancy we should meet without even trying." A surprised Sector V turned back around to face the Delightful Children (carrying maps and bags too), exasperated that such snooty rivals must ruin their enjoyment like always. No-nonsense attitudes in the bad group's eyes wouldn't convince the good group.

"Oh, it's you again," #4 said, "Not today, knuckleheads. We'll play with you tomorrow, okay?"

"You aren't ruining the plants' happiness," #3 growled.

"What's the problem?" the DC retorted, "Is this not a nice day out? Do you not appreciate the great outdoors?" None of the operatives responded. "We resent that."

"Resent what?" #1 questioned, "What're you up to now?"

In response, the Delightfuls broke their amalgamated positions and stood in a straight line with their positions from left to right as followed: the tall boy whose brown hair covered his eyes; the tall blond girl; the short blond boy; the short spectacled girl; and the medium boy wearing a football helmet. Sector V felt not as much shocked as they did curious since the medium boy demonstrated independent actions once on that former coffee-drilling rig. (A/N: I am purposely disregarding unveiled names.) "What are y'all up to?" #5 repeated.

"The same as you, no question of it," they answered, "Personal enjoyment and environmental restoration."

"Oh yeah?" #2 shot.

"Yeah. Is there a problem?"

"Um…do we need ta answer?" #3 asked.

"Course not," #4 stated, "We ain't in the mood today. Then again…aw, forget it. Just stay out of our ways and leave us to our business, alright? You ain't ruining our planting."

"Interesting," the DC commented, "We would've expressed the same notions. No matter. Enjoy yourselves." The ever suspicious Sector V – carefully watching for tricks – stood aside as their rivals headed single-file towards the nearest thicket and splitting off into separate directions. Tightly squinted eyes and near-paranoid attitudes unveiled no released nanobots or other. And the DC even pet bushes on the side before disappearing from sight.

"Huddle!" #1 ordered, and the good group did just that.

"Whadda y'all suppose?" #5 wondered.

"How d'ya think they can hurt us with plants?" #3 added.

"Plenty things," #2 suggested, "They might rig traps underground, in the branches and such, and in water. Especially mines. Or they could've developed traps that actually grow from seeds."

"Or little machines, monster plants, or both," #4 chimed.

"Can't say I disagree dis time," #5 admitted, "Machines dat grow from seeds, you said? Maybe a new model o' Delighfulization chamber?

"Or pollution!" #3 declared.

"In a nutshell, something's up, #1 summarized, "Anything's possible where those creeps are concerned. For all we know and all that's happened lately, I wouldn't doubt it if they disregarded age to accomplish whatever they've got planned."

"So, what've we got planned?" #4 asked.

"Each of us follows a Delightful Child and keeps a close eye on them from a certain distance. I need not remind you to avoid attacking unless they do something first, but leave this area and see if you can get help if no teammates are in sight. I'll follow the tallest member."

"I got the dolly!" #3 announced, referring to the tall blond girl.

"Mirror boy's mine," #4 decided, referring to his look-alike.

"And helmet boy goes out to yours truly," #2 said.

"Guess dat leaves me wit' da short girl," #5 concluded.

"And that's that," #1 said as they broke up, "Now let's move out." Sector V walked side by side in a horizontal line all the way towards the same thicket where the DC entered. Only ten feet away, each operative then picked out where he or she thought they saw each rival go and so went down those same paths.

In #1's section, the people there mostly pruned the vegetation. Trimmers and shears of various sizes covered three picnic tables with experts standing close by to choose the right pairs for whoever came their way. #1 stood at an untouched fraction trimming like nothing all by his lonesome during the first minute. He may not admit it publicly, but such a chore as this certainly relieved his stressful mind despite that he mustn't let his guard down even for a second. "You missed a spot," someone pointed out.

#1 followed the mysterious blue-sleeved arm's direction; cut said missed part; and faced the helper to say, "Thanks." Seconds into continued activity, however, the second youngest Sector V operative jolted and found none other than the one Delightful Child – the tall boy – standing nearby having just arrived. #1 put some distance in between, watching his unofficial partner carefully while trimming more. The latter would try something any second now, but the former received a surprise in the form of casual talk.

"Say, Nigel," the tall boy said, "Did you know an oak tree consumes 88 gallons of water in a day on average?"

#1 never halted once. "Um…no…I didn't."

Not too far off, #2 began work by picking up trash off the ground in a straight line. "This little piggy went to market…this little piggy stayed home…this little piggy had roast beef…this little piggy had none…" That's when both his hand and another, slightly darker, landed on the same next item, which #2 had yet to mind.

"This little piggy cried 'wee-wee-wee'," came a familiar voice.

"Yeah, this little piggy cried…" Realizing reality, #2 did a double take before his eyes trailed up the opposing arm towards the helmeted Delightful Child's obscured face. "…'wee-wee-wee'?" The heavyset operative then quickly backed away, letting his chosen opponent stow the item instead, and put on a glare.

But the medium boy looked confused. "Careful, Hoagie. Make a face and it'll stick that way."

#2 waved it off. "Oh, please. Like I haven't heard that one time too many?" The medium boy playfully rolled his eyes, shrugged, and strolled past the ever-watchful operative glancing the former's way every second or so.

In yet another location of the park, #3 and the tall girl planted some new trees. Placed distance alongside a disturbed expression on the operative's part hinted the same disagreeable attitudes toward each other like their respective comrades. "And that's another one down," the Delightful Child commented, standing up and brushing herself off, "I've the feel of a semi-truck on a hot summer day."

"You better not hurt the plants if you know what's good for ya," #3 warned.

The tall girl of course took it in stride. "Why, the very idea, Kuki. Whatever warrants such a foolhardy idea in your gentle head?"

"Hmph."

While #3 continued returning dug-up soil, her unofficial companion stared at her own planted tree before reviving an earlier interesting notion. "So, Kuki. About happiness in these plants: You say they have feelings?"

"Of course," was the softened reply, "Dey're living things, ain't dey? Then again, anything can have feelings if you listen long enough." Rather than speak, the Delightful Child merely nodded in acknowledgement.

Further along, #4 wasted no time on one side of an area flipping seeds into finger-deep dug-up holes with the short boy doing the same on the opposite side. Come the midpoint, Sector V's second oldest operative got competitive seeing his rival and so upped the pace. With the feeling turning almost mutual, the two soon met at an angle where both rows of holes intersected; #4 filled the last hole first. "Rrrrr…" the operative growled.

"I see someone's been practicing through a game of Coin Toss," the short boy commented, "And at the expense of a good night's rest, too."

"Don't even think about it."

The Delightful Child ignored #4's threat. "Wallabee, might I ask why you and your friends dined with those preteens at Chez Cheese a while back when you know they sit amongst your teenage foes?"

"None o' yer business, bub. If you wanna know so much, go ask the teenagers yerself."

Watching a wary #4 stomp off, the short boy shrugged and neared another section of dug holes. "Someone hasn't had their mid-morning nap," he muttered.

Even further away, the sweeping motions of #5's hand clutching a full watering can insured that native florae obtained an early drink despite that the sky continually suggested it might rain later. The weather had been slightly dry as of late. #5 paused noticing the remaining Delightful Child just entering the scene and following suit on some perpendicular growths. Enemy or not, the quiet operative continued undercover work hardly as shocked as her teammates. Pausing soon enough, the short girl couldn't tear away from asking a simple question. "You don't get out much into the open, do you, Abigail?"

#5 paused to cock an eye. "Come again?"

"You know, the open? Fresh air, greenery, et cetera? As far as pleasurable activities go, not counting measly urban or suburban parks, I can't remember the last occasion you or your friends took time appreciating nature to this extent."

"Yeah, well, #5 tends ta be a city person most o' her time." The operative again continued watering. "Anyway, it's difficult appreciatin' much o' anything when mugs like you don't give us da chance. I don't know what you an' yer siblings are up to, but it ain't gonna work."

"Whatever you say," the short girl concluded, resuming her efforts.

Back at the mansion, Father had just finished his project. A jug of petroleum stood on a weak wooden shelf above his work area. "Now for the…oops." Bumping his arm into the wall apparently by accident made the shelf's foundations give away; he leapt back as the container crushed a glass tube containing a pink concoction, popped open, and the oil spilled out and mixed with that concoction. The maroon puddle boiled and steamed while the room rumbled. "This can't be good." Father hid behind the nearest corner and observed the puddle, calm at first until it rose up into a mountain and took form: smudgy, slender body; arms containing three-fingered hands; legs containing feet each ending at one big, round toe; sharp-toothed mouth; yellow eyes; and dripping with oil. Father stood out from hiding. "What is this? Who are you?"

"The name's Oiler, pal," the creature spoke in a growly voice, "I'm my own boss, and I got me an ecosystem to trash."

"Wrong. **I** created you; therefore, you'll do as **I** say."

Oiler abruptly grabbed Father by the wrist in response and tossed him against floor-based cabinets, temporarily knocking him out. "The experiment went wrong, bucko. Ain't that a shame." Once Oiler left the lab proceeding with his rampage, Father reawakened and realized the danger before setting his eyes on a certain water-filled jar also containing an amorphous maroon mass.

Lunch break with complimentary lunch was in session in Gardenia Park meanwhile. The reunited Sector V sat at one picnic table of course chowing down while still eyeing the also-reunited DCFDTL several meters away, who were either imitating the relaxed mainstream or hiding whatever suspicious activities very well. Said antagonists practically ignored otherwise and said protagonists. "Isn't this da nicest day ever?" #3 began.

"Sure is," #2 agreed, "I know I've had quite a time here."

"Keep sharp, team," #1 instructed, "You never know when the Delightful Children might pull a fast one on us."

"Y'know, #1, #5'd advise ya ta chill out otherwise," the oldest commented, "Dat is, if we wasn't dealin' wit' our greatest enemies…er, besides their dad."

"I don't get it," #4 spoke, "I've looked my target over 70 trillion times. Whatever they're doin', they can't be that good. Why would they wanna dirty themselves on purpose?"

"Must be big," #5 chimed, "They haven' done much the pas' few weeks."

"Hey, it could even be something really dumb," #2 suggested, "Maybe they're acting like regular kids on purpose. They might be distracting us from what they're hiding or just stressing us out. I wouldn't doubt either."

"Anything's possible," #1 said, "Other than a possible mess, it's actually been a good day so far." A sudden foul odor inspired other people's complaints of 'Ew!' and 'Yuck!' while having Sector V and the DC fan the air.

"You were sayin'?" #5 spoke. Echoes of splattering, physical blows, and other disturbing things foresaw everybody except said quintets – now standing up – running past towards further space as Oiler broke through the heavy growths chewing on and then spitting out hedge trimmers.

"Aw, I feel insulted," the monster mocked, "No introduction? You won't let me introduce myself?"

"We're outta here," the DC decided, leaving Sector V holding the bag.

Ignoring that, #5 took in another whiff to aid in her visual study. "Hmph. Judging from da looks and smell o' things, dat thing's made entirely of oil."

None looked more pained than a jolting #3. "Oil? No! If that's true, he can't be here! He's hurting and ruining da plants!"

"I hear you're a dizzy mind," Oiler noted, motioning to the youngest operative, "No one told me, but I can smell one a mile away. So, you actually understand what oil is and the harm it causes? That's a start."

"Don't start with me!" #3 furiously shot back, she and teammates attaining fighting poses, "Would you just clean up after yerself and go away? You're ruining the park!"

"The name's Oiler, lunkheads. And I could care less what happens to nature. I gotta ruin it." So the fight began, the operatives dodging greasy globs the monster either flung from his body (i.e. simply waving a limb, his head, or pulling it off anyplace on his person) or spat from his mouth which they barely dodged at first. Weapon usage was out of the question since the kids left it all back at the treehouse. The fight grew difficult as they all slipped on various black patches, letting Oiler administer merciless beatings more easily. #3 regained balance first.

"Dat's it," she growled, pouncing on Oiler. The girl's rapid reflexes – mostly punching and swiping – gave the others opportunity to stand up again as well and then join their teammate. But #3 demonstrated uncharacteristic ostentation via shoving them away when they tried getting in their own piece. She paused a moment as Oiler regenerated his upper half, too dazed by confusion to react. "THIS ONE'S MINE!" The brawl resumed with splattering supplementing the others' calls.

"Uh, #3?" #5 said. But said operative was much too infuriated to respond.

"#3?" #4 repeated. No response.

"#3?" #1 chimed. Still, #3 continually made Oiler pay for his anti-environmentalist sentiments. As far as her first experience on Rainbow Monkey Island went, nobody dared hurt innocent ecosystems on her watch. Too bad Mr. Mogul and Simon too learned the hard way.

"#3!" all four chorused, instilling the intended effect.

The youngest operative looked their way, having reduced Oiler to a puddle for the moment. "What? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Busy, alright," #2 continued, "We like aiding the environment as much as the next guy or lady, but I'm sorry to inform you that yer making the problem worse. Look." The middle operative motioned around the place, and #3 looked down coyly.

"Oopsie," she said, "I love it all so much I got carried away." She then faced the same direction as her teammates when a shadow arose and Oiler stood tall once more.

"And it just gets worse," he snarled, eyes glowing. Optical lightning blasts started a fire upon these cryptic words. The disgusting messes of course only fed it and made it spread quicker than a speeding mongoose. Sector V much preferred dodging projectile globs. Plus, it turns out not every bystander escaped, either. Higher screams echoed above the raging inferno.

"We gotta put it out!" #3 cried, "Everybody and everything's counting on us!"

"At once!" #1 declared, setting out to do just that. Amazingly enough, they managed not to catch on fire themselves despite being oil-drenched (they remembered to stop, drop, and roll even so).

A few meters nearby, the nervous DC with a few other souls stood isolated amongst the towering disaster. Gardenia Park thankfully had some flame-retardant, earth-based areas throughout. "This is not our idea of a good time. Father…"

"You called?" came said man's voice. The DC's eyes glanced toward the fiery wall whose surface Father surpassed easily via a special flame-retardant shield his suit projected. "Everything go okay, children?"

The quintet regained a tinge of their usual demeanor. "Yes, Father…except for the wildfire."

"Then we better hurry."

"My job's finished here," Oiler decided, watching the blaze from half a mile back and the efforts to put it out, "Onward I go." Halfway through facing the opposite direction, however, he noticed the fire quickly slithering its way toward him via his footsteps. "Oop! Time to blow!" But the monster never escaped a fiery striking sensation on the back – a cross between a lashing whip and a leaping snake – which lit him up rather painfully. "Aaaahhhh! Dang it!" But Oiler retained one more trick up his sleeve. "I'll hafta burn the city quickly! This fire's taking its toll on me!" He zoomed away assuming the snake form, cutting a ditch in the ground.

Back over yonder, Father and the DC – the former's shield protecting all six, with no need for physical contact – emerged into Sector V's position and all but interrupted their efforts. "Where'd you come from?" #3 questioned.

"Whatever you're thinking, you are correct," Father replied, "This whole mess is all my fault."

"I knew it the whole time!" #5 declared, "I knew you creeps were up ta somethin'! Just a matter o' time, huh?"

"Buton up this instant and listen!" Father demanded, "Because for your information, I too love the environment even if I don't always show it! I wanted to make a special creature that would clean up pollution in the ground, water, and air! But an accident back in the lab did just the opposite! So sue me!"

"You lie!" #4 shot back.

"Believe what you want, Kids Next Door!" the DC put in, "There's a time and place for everything, but this is neither!"

"We still say you're lying!" #1 retorted, "But if you made it, do you know how to stop it?"

"There may be a way!" Father continued, withdrawing the same jar from his pocket.

"Whaddaya gonna do with that?" #3 wondered.

Father was amazed at the youngest operative's ability to be calmer than her teammates but followed along regardless. "This jar contains an experimental sea sponge that feeds on fossil fuels rather than…otherwise. You Kids Next Door keep the flames here at bay while my Delightful Children and I handle Oiler, okay?"

"How do we know we can trust you?" #2 cried.

"As we already hinted, it's not like you have a choice anyway," the DC stated.

"Well, you better hurry!" #1 said, "I saw the jerk burst into flames himself and head towards the city!" And the acknowledging sextet tore off out from the park. The flames must've slowed Oiler down if they actually managed catching and keeping up.

"You just don't know when to quit, do ya?" the monster said, glancing back

"And you have it switched around, scoundrel!" the DC retorted, "The flames stop here!"

"Who's gonna stop me?" Oiler sped on ahead attempting to leave them in the dust. Not far ahead, some people caught the fire snake heading their way and ran screaming for dear life. But surprising hope presented itself in the form of a nearby working fire hose dousing the monster and diluting him into a pitiful dollop. "No, no!"

"Excellent," Father commented, the sextet coming to a stop and his shield powering down, "I knew alerting the fire department beforehand would come in handy."

"This is my reign of terror!" Oiler continued complaining, "I'm supposed to destroy!"

"Well, sorry to spoil your fun, but your reign of terror has come to an end."

"Oh well. Water's not gonna keep me down. I'll just reform myself when it gets dry again."

"Not likely." Father unscrewed his jar and dumped the sea sponge and more water upon Oiler, and it sucked the monster up ravenously.

"Ugh. What a way to go: being eaten alive by some sponge."

Gardenia Park steamed that afternoon as dumped water killed the blazes and crews of all sorts worked right away not just at cleaning up the messes but also aiding any injured. Those splattered, especially Sector V, were sprayed down with a harmless chemical to remove the petroleum from their bodies and clothing and to sterilize all traces of intoxication and pollution. "The monster never saw his end coming," Father told reporters, the DC of course standing by him, "However, I'm sad to report our experimental sponge was only temporary. I'm sure it could've been an environmental boon to us all."

"That's okay, Mr. Father," the reporter assured, "Everybody still loves heroes."

The departing Sector V heard it all from behind some trees. Bystanders supported the 'heroes', had doubts, or couldn't decide. "Heroes my foot," #1 muttered.

"Yeah, #5 hates glory stealers," #5 agreed, "Dey're the ones who started dis whole mess in da first place."

"Why don't we just say so?" #3 suggested.

"We could, but hardly anyone'd believe us," #4 said, yawning and stretching arms, "Plus, I'm too tired ta start another rumble. Let's get on home, huh?" No one minded Sector V stepping out from their hiding spot and walking to and along the same driveway with full minds.

"Oh well," #2 finished, "Easy come, easy go. Or, something…"

End Transmission


	6. Operation: DAKERE Part 1

Note: 'Dakere' is Amharic for 'struggle to overcome'.

**D**emeaned  
**A**dolescents  
**K**eep  
**E**nduring  
**R**ancorous  
**E**xclusion

For an indeterminate amount of time, kids and adults had been at war with each other. Somewhere along the line, some adults let their authority make them utter tyrants. The Kids Next Door was supposedly founded to secure children's rights and battle this tyranny. Of course, both sides weren't without traitors. Some kids followed evil adults exchanging vital information for power. And then there existed adults the KND considered qualifying enough to classify as good; most notably many operatives' parents. Other adults who may have seemed good or oblivious before reached a status – usually bad – sooner or later. (And as a side note, both sides also had fair shares of complete imbeciles.) Only the stars knew when anybody reached an accord.

Sector V especially gained a famous reputation. No one knew how or why, but most action seemed to follow them. Their experiences – victory and defeat alike – were amongst the most discussed. They must've been legends in their own minds before anyone captured it all in hardcover; one might be surprised it hadn't been done already. Anything could've contributed to it: unorthodox battle tactics; teamwork; weaponry secrets. Most legendary operatives needed wait a few years, but Sector V was changing the status quo.

The KND universe all in all worked rather smoothly during the first decade or so; people were either friends or foes and made no bones about it. But what if someone arrived on the scene who really couldn't decide? What if there came someone who ended up caught in the middle maybe even without trying, thereby creating mass confusion? And where might it end?

Boxes littered the lawns of two recently bought houses with moving vans standing by. On the left property, an Amhara preteen boy – a puff of curly black hair on his head with one large curl down the middle of his forehead; wearing a lavender sleeveless shirt, blue pants, crimson socks, and orange shoes – unpacked stuff rather slowly. His mother (having straight black hair), the father, and younger twin siblings (all with lemon-yellow hair, the former curly and the latter straight) rushed their work. The male twin wore a long-sleeved navy-blue shirt, and grayish-blue pants with round turquoise patches on the knees, and his hair was cut down to less than a half inch and parted in the middle. The female twin had longer hair also parted in the middle held in place by a lime-green clip on the left and was clad in a black long-sleeved shirt with indigo sleeves and collar line and yellow pants. "Darn this box!" the father complained, unable to fit a stubborn package through the door, "Why didn't we…we…oh, I forget!"

"Easy, Endale," the mother spoke, aiding her spouse, "We'll get it in if it's the last thing we ever do. But criminy, I can't wait until the moving industry has a revolution. Remind me to donate to that cause."

"I know what we need!" the female twin suggested, "A blue whale ta pull these things in for us! No wait, an elephant! Or a tyrannosaurus! Or an elasmosaurus!"

"Ie, even better!" the male twin chimed, "They oughta build houses of wet clay! Then the door can adjust ta any size!"

"Abebe, Gonder, not now," the mother instructed, referring respectively to the boy and girl. Her attention then went out to the older sibling, who lifted his head up at her voice. "Hey, Mark! Come give us a hand, e'bake'h! And try ta pick up the pace a bit!"

"Coming, Mom." And with Mark helping, the shoved box plopped right on the interior floor, thankfully containing no fragile objects. The offspring ran off to grab more whereas another female adult voice halted the parents.

"Trouble with the boxes, huh?" The first pair turned, saw another Amhara couple – the male having curly brown hair, the female wavy dark-orange – standing vigil over a wooden fence separating both houses, and walked over to greet. All four bowed heads before talking again. "Tadiyass. I'm Zema Tafari, and this is my husband York. I see we're not the only ones who just moved in."

"Inevitable's the key word here," York added, "Not that I mind; I rather like it."

"The name's Endale Rekik, and this is my wife Ibex."

Ibex gently waved her hand, somewhat apprehensive. "Hi."

Zema pointed to a group of kids in their yard, also preoccupied. There was a preteen girl – wavy brown hair and clad in a beige t-shirt, mint-green cutoff overalls, white socks, and green shoes – unpacking just as slowly as Mark. Another pair of twins (both boasting curly dark-orange hair) moved about ranting. The boy wore a light-orange t-shirt with blue sleeves and sky-blue shorts with leg openings outlined by black stripes, and three small hair stalks stood above his forehead like grass shoots. The girl wore a yellow t-shirt and frilled purple skirt, hair tied in the back in downward-pointing pigtails. Zema motioned toward the older child first. "That's our daughter Nancy." Then she motioned toward the twins. "That's our other daughter Tana and her twin brother Harari."

Endale pointed at him and Ibex's own offspring. "That's our son Mark, our other son Abebe, and his twin Gonder."

Little difference outlined the right side's yard other than personalities. Parents continued talking for a short while as their kids continued work, apparently too shy at present to offer greetings. "I heard this place is full of walking furniture," Harari said, "Someone told me these kids got swallowed by an armchair and didn't return until a month later. Then they burned it."

"No, no, no," Tana disagreed, "You got it all wrong. It took them a whole week; I remember like they said it the day I was born."

"It was a month, Tana."

"A week."

"A month."

"A week."

"A month."

"Oh, Harari." The twins eyed and walked up to their sister. "Nancy, whadda you think? A month or a week?"

Nancy stopped work and shrugged. "I couldn't say. But this does seem like a nice place to live." Laughter in the left yard caught their attention, so the siblings walked up to the fence and peered over or through (depending on height). Abebe and Gonder had apparently pulled a lighthearted prank on Mark, to which he lightheartedly returned the favor.

"Some union," Tana commented, "They sure look friendly, huh?"

"Awo, but it's gonna take further in-…in-…what's the word?" Harari spoke.

"Investigation," Nancy answered.

"That's it. It'll take more of that to know fer sure." The Rekik siblings noticed the observant Tafaris, giving way to exchanged greetings. Abebe and Gonder put much energy into waving their hands with Harari and Tana ranking closest. Mark and Nancy were more relaxed. With both twin pairs moving along, the preteens spent a quarter minute staring eye before joining the procession. And the day was history.

Little else interfered in both families' new settlements. Ibex Rekik and York Tafari got well acquainted with the other employees and such at their respective work places. Booked schedules and timidity (especially amongst Nancy and Mark) all but prevented second acquaintances between both families. Tana and Harari warmed up to Gonder and Abebe without fail and vice versa whereas the preteens must've been waiting for something. Maybe others were also awaiting something if neither Mark nor Nancy received visits, invites, or greetings from anyone. The twin duos were never apart as their personalities took the neighborhood by storm despite lack of further bonding. On top of that, none of the Tafari or Rekik kin yet believed stories about the Kids Next Door or anything related no matter how many stories or unnatural disturbances flew above their heads. But a seemingly calm afternoon to which Nancy took a pleasant stroll would soon change that. "Mmmm…hm?"

"Huh?" Having walked the opposite direction absorbed in the surrounding serenity, Mark and Nancy halted staring each other face to face. Five-second silence preceded bowed heads and conversation.

"Don't know about you, but I've put introductions off too long. I'm Nancy Tafari, I just moved here."

"Likewise. The name's Mark Rekik."

More silent staring ensued until Nancy brought up the inevitable. "So, you wanna be my friend?"

Mark nodded yes. "I was gonna ask the same." He switched directions to her side, and they both turned down one corner. Unbeknownst to either, a hidden figure behind in the distance slowly pursued.

Once more, nothing disturbed their time. Neighborhoods felt spooky what with no other souls populating the streets, sidewalks, or yards in a rather tolerable manner. But the two could always watch each other's backs; higher numbers meant greater chances of protection and escape even though they probably weren't the best combatants there. "I tell you, it's been rough lately," Nancy recalled, "Not a day's passed without me or the family getting a story about Kids Next Door or some wacky villain running amuck. Just yesterday at dinner, Harari told us that somebody else told him these aftershocks we felt several weeks ago weren't an earthquake but pirates sailing a ship on land stealing candy instead of gold coins or other currency. And not long before that, Mom picked up this one story about a slug made of gallimaufry stew trying to swallow a quintet whole. Of course, she and Dad dismiss it all as strange government bustle."

"Go figure," Mark shared, "My parents said the same. This morning was a disaster when they left: The phone kept ringing off the hook with pranksters telling me, Gonder, and Abebe not to go outside because of some old woman going around shooting kids with tranquilizers and putting them in a zoo. We also got some weird noises as if the woman got them also. Isn't that just the craziest?"

"I can't decide between all these stories or that structure in the distance." Nancy pointed to a tree containing a telescope, a house-like structure having 'KND' painted in red on a white ground, and pads imbued with the numbers '1', '2', '3', '4', and '5': the Sector V treehouse. "Insane. Never have I seen a treehouse that complex."

"Welcome to the 21st century. Kids are getting smarter all the time." The two barely stood aside as a stampede of children suddenly passed them by yelling such things as 'Free, free!', 'Free at last!', and 'Outta my way!'. A foot of distance separated a little girl calling 'Wait for me! Wait up!' from the main procession. Mark and Nancy exchanged perplexed looks. "I still don't believe in no Kids Next Door."

"Sounds like you've both missed out," came a female voice. The pair turned to see a girl their age – the pursuing figure – stride on up close. "A couple of disbelievers, eh? That's alright."

"Who are you?" Nancy asked.

"The name's Haley. Pleasure to meet you both. I've been watching you for quite some time now, and I can tell you the Kids Next Door are as real as the three of us."

The two exchanged uneasiness. "Okay…" Mark commented.

"You both must've heard plenty. Anything about the Kids Next Door being heroes and doing what's right?" The duo nodded yes, preceding an abrupt irritated response. "Forget that nonsense. They're nothing more than ragamuffin ignoramuses threatening to destroy us all. They're a bothersome disgrace to society especially for the adults."

"Um…" Nancy began, she and Mark not knowing what to believe, "You say you've been watching us?"

Haley became slightly more cheerful. "Yep. You two look very talented. We could use something like that around here. C'mon, I'll introduce you to the others." And the trio was off.

Sunset came into play by the time Mark, Nancy, and Haley reached where else but Father's mansion. The two new residents only naturally felt surprised since they'd never seen a mansion in person before. All stood at the front of course with Haley leading and then knocking. "Password," came a gruff voice from within.

"Tarsk," Haley answered. The door opened automatically, and the three walked in as it shut behind. A man decked in ice-cream-themed armor stood by the couch waiting patiently. "Hey, boss. Here are the potential recruits I told you about."

Said pair jolted. "Recruits?" Mark said, "You never told us about joining any clubs."

"Makes for a better surprise," Haley explained, "Don't worry, you'll love it. I myself used to be lost until someone showed me everything. And am I glad they did. Wait'll you catch the benefits: loving friends, new skills, respect, the list goes on. As I already said, we could use people like you here."

"Perhaps," Nancy said, "You practicing for an advertisement job or something?" Haley and the man looked confused, so Nancy waved her hand to change the subject. "Never mind. You could've told us sooner so we could let our parents know."

"It's alright," the man assured, "Haley surprised you; now you can surprise your families even more. Come. The other trainees are waiting." Trio elevated to quartet as they headed down hallways, passed through a secret door, traversed miles of underground tunnel, and entered a huge featureless room where teenagers and other preteens waited. Nancy and Mark took their positions away from Haley at the lower left corner of the group. Everybody else stood firm whereas the new pair couldn't stop fidgeting. Another man wearing the same kind of armor as the first stepped out from a back door.

"Hello, soldiers," the adult newcomer spoke, "We hereby welcome you to Father's new training program for juveniles like yourselves. The man's forces have run into their greatest trouble yet lately with those no-good hoodlums the Kids Next Door. His brood encountered a bad case of infighting amongst adult forces via this Miss Goodwall today, but that's a different story. We only hope you don't head down the same path in future days. Other than that, Father has decided current tactics aren't enough; better villains must be trained beforehand. That's where you recruits come in. You have all been selected to participate in Father's future, secret juvenile force." One youth raised his hand. "Yes, young man?"

"What exactly are we fighting?" was the question.

"Ah, I almost forgot. Roll the tape!" Down rolled a screen on which a movie was projected. Shots of various villain figures battling KND operatives intermingled with shots of kids picking on regular adults, all of which Mark and Nancy could almost swear was nothing more than a collage of propaganda. "For years, we adults have suffered humiliation under vicious, ungrateful brats. We've given them all they ever needed – food; water; shelter; clothing; joy; the essentials – but something went wrong somewhere. Their greed formed our greatest enemies the Kids Next Door, who threaten to destroy everybody above the age of 12 just to turn the world into undying chaos. We've fought our hardest for years to eliminate this plague, but…well, I hate repeating myself. And to our advantage, to annoy them, former operatives the little fascists shunned now work on our side."

"Er…what'd you say was in it for us?" Mark asked.

The movie turned off while the man continued. "Think about it. Don't you hate having little brats always nagging you about something? 'Play with me! Gimme a cookie! I want, I want, I want!'" Murmurs now echoed amongst the crowd. "Is that not the most irritating bit ever, always putting up with their incessant demands? The whining, constant yelling, banging their annoying little drums." Whereas the man reached most according to angry faces, an unnoticed Mark and Nancy didn't know what to believe. "That's right. Don't you just hate how the little mosquitoes think they must always get their way?"

"This guy's not joking," one preteen mentioned.

"Don't you hate it?" the man said, "Don't you hate it all?"

"Yeah!" all but the two ignored yelled.

"Then step forward and take action. Don't abandon the chance." A woman dressed in a standard ice cream delivery uniform walked through the procession passing around maroon body suits with skimpy jersey-like accessories before leaving. Nancy and Mark felt more confused than all the others. "These are prototypes for updated versions of an invention called Battle Ready Armor. Put 'em on." All did just that. "Now for training."

Another room, just as huge and no doubt adjacent, contained lots more than the previous one. Punching bags, swinging sandbags, big tires, various exercise equipment, water-filled troughs, and other items created crisscrossing obstacle courses. Most trainees had completed their fifteenth rounds while the uncertain pair was just halfway through their tenth, having decided to remain stuck together. "I tell you, Nancy, the man's words and the movie failed to convince me," Mark murmured after they'd crossed a tire path, "Abebe and Gonder are nothing like that."

"I know what you mean, Mark," was the reply, halting their trip, "Harari, Tana, and I have had our fights, but I still love them. Just because they're mischievous doesn't make 'em brats."

"Hey, you two!" a teenage supervisor, "Pick up the pace!"

"Yeah, let's just keep playing along for now," Mark decided as they resumed.

Nothing else stirred until later that night when the recruits battled enemies other than Sector V at a construction site: a different KND group sent on a special mission to spy on adult activity only to get spotted in the process. The two Amhara did lousier than their teammates due to both doubt and sloppy training skills. Nine times were they smacked aside; nine times did the first man berate them. Come the tenth moment, the first man focused his energy on Haley amongst the firepower. "Haley, I thought you said these two were good!"

"So I made a mistake! The ways they studied so hard in their rooms; they sure looked talented!"

Said pair then just stood aside watching everything. "I take back all doubts," Nancy said, "But these Kids Next Door are fools. Overwhelming odds, yet they persist."

"You're right!" a battling teenager called, "Except for the 'fools' part!" One operative then landed before the two's feet, whimpering as they stared on. It then ended with her comrades blindsiding them before leaving the scene. All but the Amhara who stood back up right after regrouped; seeing those KND in action provided much food for thought.

"It's good, soldiers," the same man assured, "This fight was merely a means to distract them from our operations in Saudi Arabia." He then glanced Mark and Nancy's way, his upcoming words grabbing their attention. "But you two are the biggest rejects I ever smelled in my life! You didn't do diddly squat tonight!"

The two faced him for an argument. "I hate to disappoint you, but those Kids Next Door looked nothing like the vicious monsters you said they were," Mark spoke, "Looked to us like they fought as true heroes. Did you see the way those three ambushed us to rescue their friend, same as how Nancy and I watched each other's backs?" He faced the other trainees. "I never saw any of you implement the same teamwork."

"You got ambushed?" Haley gasped.

"And you're demoted," the man told her.

"One more thing," Nancy concluded. She and Mark pressed buttons to retract the armor, took off those suits, and tossed them in front of the bewildered group. "Consider that our resignation." None bothered following as they ran for home.

Later days saw the preteens at their busiest. Learning more about the KND, allies, and enemies through Internet and neighborhood gossip; self-defense training; keeping extra wary of surroundings; and a summer studying program contributed to multiple pristine strengths. Siblings knew much while their parents remained ever oblivious. As if that wasn't enough, Mark and Nancy found their hectic schedules actually inspired ardor instead of preventing it: That one nighttime incident saw them come together more and more until they dated and became a romantic couple. Speaking of which, the failure amongst Father's ranks was detrimental on their social life since nobody besides Haley, who didn't count anyway, neared them or spared a second glance. But life felt plenty promising as long as the two had each other and their families (who took the dating rather lightly).

It was on one morning Mark and Nancy took their daily late-morning walks together throughout the various neighborhoods. A crashed pod halted movement as they watched the hatch open, popcorn spilling out with the annoyed, popcorn-covered Delightful Children exiting and just leaving the transport behind. "Every time. Every single time. Why can't we put them away?" They saw the preteens. "Oh. The rejects."

Relaxation gave way to seriousness. "So, our reputation precedes us," Nancy retorted, "What're you suck-ups gonna do about it? Cry to your daddy? Or maybe get one of yer fancy machines or some dimwitted jerk to beat us up for you."

"Pathetic," Mark added, him and Nancy shaking their heads and punching fists together, "Wanna get physical right here right now? Ready when you are."

But the DC refused to budge. "We do not engage in physical altercations. But if you wait a short time, we promise you a good show."

"Wimps," the couple shot out.

"What did you suggest of us?"

"What we're suggesting is you're the laziest things on the planet," Nancy answered, "You can't do a thing on your own. It's no wonder everyone walks all over you." The DC didn't answer.

"And another thing," Mark said, "What's with the synchronized speech? Why don't you just talk individually?" A funny misconception considering the medium boy had temporarily seceded from his kin earlier that day, but still no answer. "Ignore us if need be, but we're only telling the truth. You are weak and helpless."

"What, fight you?" the DC responded, "We already know about your previous failure. You'd be amazed how quickly news travels around here. Even if we wanted to, fighting you rejects would waste time and resources. Go find someone worth your time, like the Toilenator." And they walked on towards their prestigious home as Nancy threw out last-minute commentary.

"Yeah, that's it! Just leave your problems all alone! You'd be surprised how much we've changed lately! You'd be surprised!" The DC responded via mock-mimic hand gestures.

Nancy and Mark disregarded it and moved on, eventually stopping at the Uno residence. They remembered to keep a safe distance away after what they'd learned about the automated defenses. Today marked their eighth unofficial visit here staring up in awe, never tiring of it. Something must've alerted the team inside if they came out meeting the pair face to face with the operatives' eyes hidden like always (except #3, who closed hers); eight visits, eight semi-timid stares. But the quintet was determined to break the cycle today. "We've done this too many times," #4 began, "You gonna make a move or not?"

"Ie," Mark replied, "We're just fascinated by the structure. Nothing much."

"Wha's 'ie' mean?" #5 asked.

"Amharic for 'no', or 'not true'," Nancy explained, "Amharic's the official language of Ethiopia. Don't bother telling us we're not there, 'cause we won't listen."

"Let's not stray off-topic," #1 reminded, "This has gone on long enough. Hungry for dinner? Chez Cheese okay?"

"I guess," Nancy decided, "I know Chez Cheese. We received an advertisement pamphlet in the mail yesterday. That good, Mark?"

"Sure thing," was the answer.

"Wonderful," #1 said, "Meet us there in three hours. We've much to discuss." And both sides retreated their own ways.

The Amhara preteens stood near the door first by the time those three hours passed, scattered stars now decorating the plum-purple sky. Both got money and permission, but Mark shared Nancy's map since his house contained none. Chez Cheese had done better than expected ever since #2 and #4 drove off the Cheese Ninjas and Roquefort. The quintet arrived minutes later and hinted them to follow while #1 and #5 made the reservations for a circular table to accommodate seven. Conversation resumed once all ordered, paid for their own meals, and the server left. Seating went like so:

#1

Mark #4

Nancy #3

#5 #2

"So, where do we start?" #3 began.

"Introductions, of course," #2 said, "You two must be these rejects our comrades afar and our enemies keep talking about. Especially our comrades afar."

"Amesege'nallo', but we've changed a great deal since that fight," Mark spoke, "My name's Mark Rekik, and this is my girlfriend Nancy Tafari."

Nancy picked up the slack before anybody poked fun at her and her boyfriend's feelings, facing each operative as she called out his or her real name and codename. "You must be Nigel Uno, or #1…you're Hoagie Gilligan, or #2…you're Kuki Sanban a.k.a. #3…you're #4 a.k.a. Wallabee Beetles…And #5, Abigail Lincoln."

"Well, someone's been doin' their homework," #5 complimented, "How much do ya know?"

"Couldn't say," Mark answered, "So much has happened ever since we moved in the neighborhood, we don't know where to begin. We're grateful our families are standing without even a scratch. The stuff we learn is due to online surfing and listening in on other people's conversations. Outside home, nobody'll even talk to us because we failed that training session. But life's still good so far."

"You must all feel content with yerselves," Nancy noted, "Standing up for children's rights, doing the stuff we thought possible only on television. Didn't used to think much about kids other than our own siblings before we came here; now we do. You need not believe us, but that's how we feel."

"So you claim to support our cause despite your ages?" #1 said, receiving nods, "Why? Why betray your own kind?"

"Because they're not our own kind," Mark explained, "This girl named Haley got us drafted into a secret club. We were told that the Kids Next Door were indeed real and that they and tikes in general were vicious menaces attempting to practically destroy the world as we knew it. They succeeded with the 'real' part, but the two of us didn't know what more to believe as of yet. Doubt interfered with our training; we…sucked…eggs. They gave us all prototypes for some invention they called Battle Ready Armor."

"We know Battle Ready Armor," #2 said, "We've had our run-ins."

"And although we'd love to bore you with specifics, we know better," Nancy picked up, "The instructors tested our training against some other, out-of-town KND group apparently on a mission to pick up vital information concerning adult forces."

"Oh!" #3 cheerfully chimed, "Den dey came back ta headquarters and spread the word about both the Armor and you two. Then it created lovely, wonderful chaos!"

"Uh, #3?" #4 said, "That ain't a good thing."

"Dinnertime!" the youngest operative announced as the server returned, handing out their meals before leaving again. Everyone dined in his or her own manner; the two Amhara ignored utensils, used mostly their right hands, scooped up food like painting a picture, consumed only that nearest, and avoided licking their fingers. Conversation didn't resume until after at least ten bites, during which #3 noticed Mark and Nancy's beverages. "What's dat stuff?"

"I's cranberry juice," #5 responded, "You two got some funny tastes. Why not jus' drink sodapop? I's much sweeter."

"Yeah, and drinking it straight from the can leads to dementia," Nancy said. Seeing the operatives look strangely at her inspired a sigh. "Never mind. We're all entitled to our own opinions."

"Anyways, you were saying?" #1 reminded.

"Again, they said the KND are bad and that they're the heroes," Mark continued, "Our former teammates swallowed it like nothing. We couldn't decide until the fight, in which we saw those on your side fight far more valiantly than described. Oh sure, they used some guerrilla tactics, but only in dire emergencies, so we noticed. It is said one can detect another's allegiance through his or her eyes; the eyes say it all. Your associates' eyes emanated nobility and selflessness, not the immorality and indifference the instructors' movie displayed."

"In other words, true heroes," #5 translated.

"You better believe it," Nancy added, "Okay, so not just the eyes. Their teamwork and otherwise actions of overwhelming danger contributed to our views. Besides us two, none of the other trainees aided each other the same way. Those operatives convinced us we were on the wrong side, so we forsook our Battle Ready Armor suits and went home. Since then, we've learned and done all we can to your cause."

"What're you saying?" #3 asked.

"We know talented true heroes when we see 'em," Mark said, "We love you kids."

The operatives paused to let it sink in. The older ones really did love the quintet. Both equally shared a common linking factor to each one; they couldn't pick favorites. "Ummmm…" #4 hummed, a bit disturbed. Consumption then continued.

"Still, words only mean so much," #2 reminded, "You made like a banana and split, but the cherry hasn't topped the sundae yet. No wait, that…" The round operative burst into giggles at his embarrassment. "That…that doesn't make sense."

"Is he always that jolly?" Nancy murmured to #5.

"More like annoying," was the answer, "And you don' know da half of it."

"Hmm…" #1 started.

"It's alright," Mark assured, "Like Nancy mentioned, we don't expect you to believe us. Actions speak louder than words."

"An' lemme guess," #4 said, "This is where ya say we'll come ta accept ya later on?"

"That's for you to decide," Nancy said.

"Yes," #1 continued, "So, you say you've no friends except each other?"

"Unless you count family members," Nancy spoke, "The kids are still monotonous, though. Except me and my sister Tana, all the girls ever wanna talk about anymore is Rainbow Monkeys. Don't get me wrong, we all have our tastes. But is that the only interesting thing anymore? Y'know?"

"Yeah," Mark agreed, "While yer at it, throw in my sister Gonder. And all the boys ever wanna talk about is the usual, stereotypical jock banter. Save for me and my brother Abebe, that is."

"And my brother Harari," Nancy said, "Whatever happened to the other stuff, like biology or a nice walk in the park?"

"Well, of course we like Rainbow Monkeys," #3 said, "They're fun." The rest of the time was silent besides munching and swigging. Nancy and Mark never in their lives saw so much cheese.

A dark-blue sky overshadowed the septet after dinner, outside of Chez Cheese. "I must say, it was very unusual meeting you tonight," #1 admitted, though apprehensive, "It's not every day we dine with enemies or questionable figures."

"You do and believe what you must," Mark said, "And, whenever adult forces try keeping you down, you just keep on throwing it in their faces."

"Indeed," #5 said.

"Chow," the preteens concluded, heading the direction opposite of the operatives. A nifty walk home would work off those built-up calories. Commercial zones faded into residential quicker than they realized.

"Those kids are something else," Nancy commented, "I shouldn't confuse responsibilities for hobbies, but I wish **I** could've had exciting adventures in younger days."

"Better late than never, according to our unofficial involvement," Mark answered, "If not for these problems, **I** wish I could've been a KND operative. 'Mark Rekik: #Ø. 'Cause you can't divide anything by zero.' I like the sound of that."

"In that case, I'll be #∞. 'Nancy Tafari: #∞. No limits there are to this stronghold.'"

"Yikes!" both cried, halting at the sight of Stickybeard stepping out with his lackeys following up and surrounding the two. Candy-cane swords kept them at bay.

"Goin' somewhere, rejects?" Stickybeard taunted, "Not before ya pay the toll."

The preteens breathed a relieved sigh. "Aw, just you," Mark said.

"'Aw, just ye'," one follower taunted, "Do ye landlubbers know ta whom ye speak?"

"Yeah, complete nutcases," Nancy shot, "Whoever heard of pirates preferring sucrose to a certain yellow-colored element of the periodic table anyhow?"

"Whatever that means," another follower said.

"Don't make us beat you up," Mark threatened. Hearing those words, the candy pirates exchanged glances preceding gut-bursting laughter.

"Oh yeah?" Nancy supplemented, pausing the chuckles, "Maybe we oughta call the cops instead." More laughter ensued. The pair shook their heads and tried leaving, but that only brought the pirates out of their enjoyment and pointing their 'swords' again.

"Enough games," Stickybeard demanded, "Forfeit the sweet stuff." The unfazed duo instead invoked perplexity by grabbing one sword each, snapping off the stalks to the pirates' bewilderment, propping the stalks partway into their mouths, and sucking on them. Three seconds passed before they each crunched off a piece, handing the stalks back to the right owners, and walking along.

"Thanks for the after-dinner mints," Mark said. Rather than pursue, ogling preceded the pirates following the two's example sucking on their own weapons as well.

It didn't stop there, however. Reaching their houses, the duo heard a thumping noise and turned back to see the pirates in the distance – having changed their minds – charging forward and yelling trivial things. Nancy motioned for Mark to sneak around her property. The confused pirates stopped before the Tafari residence searching about; one caught the preteens' outlines underneath a tree's shadow and called to the others. Four steps into blindly charging in, the pirates received a good soaking courtesy of Mark turning a faucet handle and Nancy spraying them nonstop. It wasn't long until the trap sent them packing. Mark turned off the water and ran up to Nancy, who dropped the hose for exchanged smiles and a high-five.


	7. Operation: DAKERE Part 2

Things remained ever stable since the dinner holiday but were getting rougher as time progressed. Faculty at Hendry Middle School welcomed Mark and Nancy no more than other youths while their siblings got around so far as to practically (sort of) command entire classes. Despite confidence in Sector V and the KND in general, scattered recent events inspired acts of self-questioning over support for the young heroes. KND operatives – especially Sector V – had shown minor social drift via poking fun at one another more than usual. Some story about the Delightful Children From Down The Lane blackmailing #1 into quitting his organization by bribing him with a photograph of his bare rear was one of the most irksome, though for an unknown reason not as bad as #4 being forced the day before into Rainbow Monkey-based activity and then encountering a King Kong wannabe who wouldn't leave until the blond operative gave a hug. On top of that, nobody ever saw Haley again. It was on one non-school morning that Mark stood in the kitchen preparing to take out the trash while discussing earlier days with his brother and sister, who still hadn't finished breakfast. And of course, the parents had snuck off elsewhere. "Mom and Dad are so ignorant, it's not funny," Abebe said, "How can they not see or hear a big purple gorilla stomping around? Think they have some kind of cognitive…syndrome or whatever it's called?"

"Parents are too immune to certain types of suspicion," Mark noted, "What **I** can't figure out is why this big ape looked all wrong resembling the toys, as if I know something I shouldn't because I didn't witness it."

"You're weird, Mark," Gonder playfully teased.

"I am, eh?"

"Uh huh. But I'll go ahead and take a crack at it: Maybe Grape Head was actually a cyborg. You know, half standard living creature and half machine?"

"More than that," Abebe suggested, "Think all these Rainbow Monkeys are really aliens from another planet? I sure as pumpkin pie wouldn't doubt it."

"It's possible. Then again, that's what I think about all the psychos running around this town. Can't forget that there are plenty of good ones, though. Or…"

"Decide what you both will," Mark said, "In the meantime, the waste needs a new home. Chow." Stepping outdoors, Mark noticed the trashcans no longer standing in front of his home, so he ran up to that spot and looked left and right. Doing so revealed the cans having been mysteriously relocated down left at the corner three blocks away. "Funny," he muttered, "Why'd they move 'em?" Shrugging, Mark ran down the sidewalk and successfully deposited the bag. "All done. Now to…"

"Oh, wonderful," came a familiar, unwelcoming voice, "Fancy I should bump into one out of two rejects."

An unsurprised yet disgusted Mark faced his new companion and sarcastically returned, "Oh, wonderful. Fancy **I** should bump into a coward." There at that moment stood the former #11 clad in her regular outfit staring the younger one eye to eye. Nancy and Mark both shared a sentiment about Cree Lincoln, Chad Dickson (a.k.a. the former #274), and the other Teen Ninjas which couldn't be vindicated in the least. Why did such foes strike them more deadly than Mr. Boss, Mr. Fizz, the Delightful Children, Nurse Claiborne, or even a huge psycho like Father? What did the Teen Ninjas in particular boast in abundance whereas others lacked? Could it be the pair themselves were almost teenagers, hence the anti-teen sentiments? Did their would-be careers as Teen Ninjas play a part? Maybe the characteristic psychological torture? How about the fact that some were once KND operatives? Whatever the case, something about the antagonist group felt nothing short of indescribably awful.

Conversation followed the silent staring. "Who you callin' a coward?" Cree demanded.

"Gee, I don't know. Ever stopped to think that I might be lookin' at 'er?"

"You'd better watch that tongue, kid…if you understand what's good for ya."

"I know a lot about your past life, Cree. I happen ta know you used to be #11 of the Kids Next Door. As the Delightful Children told my girl and me, news travels quickly around here. Nobody tells us a thing, so we've other ways to find out what we can."

"Oh, complete snoops. And you call me a coward?

"It's called a last-ditch resort."

"Whatever. Anyway, #11 died a long time ago. It's the sad truth; deal with it."

"Did I mention I've also heard about decommissioning and that one fugitive who escaped to Father's mansion?"

"Nope. Rejects never provide anything useful."

"If the Delightful Lava Bombs didn't tell you sooner, then I'll say it one last time: Nancy and I are no longer the clumsy oafs those other ninnies remember us as from that one night. And you can share it with all your collaborators."

Cree remained ever unfazed; in her mind, she would deliver the torture to Mark and not the other way around. "Right, I'll keep that in mind."

"I'm serious. You and all those others should've just accepted your decommissioning sessions with dignity. For all we know, you could've worked within the adult system to stop the war and bring peace. But no, you had to go and stoop to everyone else's level. Some life."

That must've done it, as Cree lowered her voice. "You and your girlfriend fail to realize the irony, Mark. We, fo' the umpteenth time, are the true heroes. Those brats are gettin' what they deserve fer being complete pains in the neck. And furthermore, you've no idea what some of us have been through."

"Yike'rta? If that's true about our siblings, you are all fools to believe Father's lies. You're the ones following a false cause." That's when the older one activated her Battle Ready Armor, not at all impressing her opponent. "Yeah, that's it. Go ahead and prove me right; I double dare you."

"So you want me to finish ya."

"That's what I said."

"Well, I heard enough." And Cree lunged at Mark, who defended himself rather well despite unfair disadvantages. Banging his hands and feet on the girl's armor either created bruises or just plain uncomfortable feelings; he could only really defend himself but not hurt her. Not that he wanted to; no matter how awful Cree seemed, Mark dared not invoke fatality out of respect for #5. He knew the sisters just had to still love each other deep down inside. How would he or Nancy like it if a KND operative pushed their siblings to death? The fight didn't last much longer once a call from Father on Cree's communicator interrupted. Both stood back up with the teenager taking the call and Mark watching curiously.

"Cree! I need you 40 miles down southwest of your current location, right now!"

"Wha's the problem?"

"Just get down here and you'll find out!"

"I'm on it." The link was terminated, and Cree hovered to deliver one last taunt and threat. "Yo' pretty good. No longer clumsy oafs? Okay, I'm impressed…a little."

"Spare me the blustering."

"You an' Nancy better stay out of our way, Mark. 'Cause one way or another, the world's gonna see true order once all those who oppose Father are vanquished."

Mark just stared on disappointedly as Cree vanished into the distance, soon muttering, "You're wrong. And your sister will be glad to prove it."

But alas, an upcoming scene at the nearest neighborhood mini mart clearly showed that trouble came in multiple groupings. Nancy was on what should've been a friendly errand run: go straight to the store, buy the stuff on a list using the money her parents lent her, head back home, and overall avoid trouble. The first three parts of that plan hinted smooth sailing from there on out. None needed give the girl a ride since walking distance wasn't that immense; only about two and a half blocks north of the Rekik and Tafari residences combined. If only she would've known how much the Teen Ninjas liked hanging around the place. Halfway through crossing the parking lot, a smirking quartet led by Chad her for some old-fashioned taunting. "Oh, no," she quietly groaned, placing one hand on her forehead, "Not right now." She knew what it meant: Both Mark and Nancy had been unofficially picking up slack around town missed by the Kids Next Door, defending youngsters although such still hadn't gained them public trust. But criminy, did these nitwits know nothing of ease? Why must anyone put up with such idiocy? Who's idea was the adult-kid conflict anyhow? As the group surrounded her, Nancy – grinding her teeth and glaring – wondered if they'd attempt exploiting the unfair odds and beat her up.

"Hello there," one member crooned, "Nancy, is it?"

"Better be careful," another taunted, "You'll ruin yer teeth."

So she stopped grinding. "To what pleasure do I owe this intrusion of personal space, boys?"

"Nothing much, actually," a third spoke, "Whatsamatter, reject? Plant tomatoes on yer toes and grow corns instead? Not eating right because you put a carrot in yer left ear and use peas for hair beads?"

"Aw, pal," Chad complained, "Now you sound worse than that idiot Hoagie Gilligan."

"Yeah, just give it a rest, wouldja?" the first cohort spoke, "These food jokes are making me hungry."

"Still calling my boy 'n' me rejects, huh?" Nancy put in, ignoring the other wisecracks, "How old. Thanks for the scintillating conversation, but I gotta move now. The wetet is souring." She would've completed the lot crossover had the group not abruptly stood in her way.

"Whoa, slow down there," the fourth follower said, "What's the hurry?"

An irritated Nancy rolled her eyes. "Arrgghh! Why doesn't somebody call the cops? I don't have time for this. You're on the adult side, right? I'll have you know that I'm doing an adult-based favor by running this errand for my parents, and I can just imagine how disappointed they'll be to hear some so-called adult supporters ruined it all."

"You're right for the most part," Chad admitted, "But unless you didn't notice, there have been a few exceptions and will probably be more."

"Either order something or get lost. You're all wasting my minutes."

"Order something?" the second follower said, "We didn't come to order anything."

"Ie, I'm being sarcastic."

"Alright, alright," Chad decided, "You and Mark have been pretty naughty pouncing on our comrades."

"Oh, you mean rescuing innocent young victims from the jaws of death?"

"You've chosen the wrong side. We just wanted to request that you both and yer families better stay out of the way. Get it?"

"Huh. And if we don't feel like it?"

Chad leaned closer and continued in a low tone. "Then we'll hurt you, your parents, and your brothers and sisters bad." He retracted.

Nevertheless, an indifferent Nancy shook her head. "Pfff. And to think you used to be a Kids Next Door legend. Now look at you; what a joke."

"I was before, but that's all in the past. I'm on the winning side, thank you very much."

"Whatever you say, champ." Nancy's sentence hinted cynicism which the quartet didn't feel like addressing; they instead let her depart without a scratch.

"Keep what we told you in mind," Chad concluded, receiving no reaction.

At least the trip's remainder was as promising as expected. Or at least partially, since the mini mart incident left Nancy uncomfortable all over again though she disguised it. York passed the time away mopping the kitchen floor as if playing floor hockey while awaiting his daughter's arrival. Good thing the front door wasn't directly connected to the kitchen; too much trouble tiptoeing around trying to avoid sullying a nice clean floor. Nancy stood before its entrance clutching the bag until her father accepted it. "Ooh, package delivery. Amesege'nallo, Nancy."

"Don't mention it."

"Plus, you're mother's gonna be home an hour late. Thought you might wanna know."

"I gotcha." And the girl walked along through the house feeling drained, while the father resumed his work. Her bedroom seemed the perfect conclusive destination up towards dinnertime today until her brother and sister's voices in the living room changed her mind. So Nancy entered unnoticed and took interest to their conversation.

"Okay, let's go over the different types of TV producers one more time," Tana said, "We first have the idealists: usually serve young audiences but can go for older people as well; focus mostly on fantasy; characters are either good or bad and almost always mean it; oftentimes teach viewers good manners but can put in just about anything considered 'educational'; and tend to ignore obvious flaws or things."

"Then we have realists," Harari added, "Usually for the old but can also do the young; mostly about making some kind of social statement or just complain about something they don't like; characters tend to say one thing but mean another; and they'll even make fun of other people's work."

Nancy smiled and felt a little better at the spectacle; her and Mark's siblings were utter prodigies. In the older kids' minds, the younger ones could get into schools reserved for 'special' people if they wanted. But the bright grade-schoolers may as well turn down the offer claiming facilities like that 'weren't any fun'. "And last, the tweens," Tana concluded, "Let's just say a mix of idealist and realist: can't make up their minds and don't fit in with just one. And then we got those who defy the categories."

"Yeah," Harari went on, "Other than that, I can't think of any specific examples for the categories. Well, those Rainbow Monkey shows I heard about might be idealist, but I ain't got any more. Why, I don't know a single one we can consider a tween. And people would think we were crazy if we told 'em all this. Who'd believe us? Nobody in our class does, and nobody out in the neighborhood does. Besides Gonder and Abebe, I mean."

Nancy's giggles attracted their attention. "**I** believe you."

"You believe us?" Harari wondered.

"**I** believe you."

"Oh yeah?" Tana replied, "Then why the chuckles?"

"C'mon, you two. You know very well by now that you just say these things in a way that makes people laugh. Of course I take you seriously. In fact, I'm also jealous that I didn't make these speculations myself sooner."

"Yeah, well…you could say we got it from you," Harari admitted, "Must run in the family. One thing that links all TV producers together – be they idealist, realist, tween, or plain confused – is that they won't badmouth their own works. I never saw or met a single person like that."

"Of course they won't," Nancy said, "That's not good business. 'If this person hates his or her own show so much and admits it stinks, then why should we watch it?' I know what you mean."

"Our point exactly," Tana continued, "Many TV producers almost always think they're better than all the others but of course won't admit it publicly. That's why realists keep poking fun at other stuff, I think."

"So Nancy, did you have a better day today?" Harari asked, "C'mon and tell us, don't hide it."

"Yeah, we won't tell Mom and Dad," Tana promised.

"I ran into some bad teenagers today, and they made me sad until I heard you two talking. They also made me promise that Mark and I would stop helping kids, but I never said I would. I assume Mark's the same way."

"You tell 'em," Harari applauded, Tana shaking her head in agreement, "No one makes our sister or friends sad." Ah, what wonderful siblings, there to bring up someone feeling down.

Mark and Nancy knew they could count on each other, their families, or even each other's families for support. However, upcoming meaner days would challenge such unity and attempt tearing it apart. Aside from a few isolated incidents – three most notable being (A) some food fight pitting Sector V against Gramma Stuffum, (B) something about #3's younger sister Mushi ruining one of the former's toys at a dinner, and (C) an ambrosia snack turned into a cyclopean blob – things weren't looking as up as they used to. The Kids Next Door altogether were losing their heroic stature from the one couple's viewpoints and acting no better than their enemies. Not the first case, however; Nancy and Mark remembered hearing a story about Sector V's first encounter with Knightbrace. Fighting him sounded justified because he forced his opinions on others, but Dr. Sigmund Teef impressed that he just wanted to help. Why would the KND enjoy cavities? Moreover, how'd they ever keep their teeth from falling out without the appropriate maintenance?

Of course, that paled in comparison to more remarkable cases. But time and time again waited for no one; the period's next most disturbing incident began one day at Hendry Middle. Walking together down a locker-lined hallway seemed nothing new. Mark and Nancy always walked together throughout the school day except during some classes. Although people continued ignoring them, at least the 'reject' label was long since dropped. Plus, none minded them having their lockers side by side; the perfect format for outcasts. "I wonder what the legal system's doing right now?" Nancy commented as they opened the locker doors and deposited their stuff (Mark took in a sharp breath to signify agreement), "Must be run by complete turnip heads if Gallagher Elementary allowed a yearlong school year."

"To think they also extended it to all above 6th grade," Mark added, "Maybe to keep everybody in line. Guess our revolt affected the system in more ways than one."

"I never told you this yet, but remember the time this Robin Food character and his gang stole everybody's lunches at the elementary school including our brothers' and sisters'?"

"What of it?"

"I called the police that evening. I asked them to send a patrol car to Father's mansion because it's the root of all problems around here. Or actually, I told them I suspected suspicious activity there; half truth's better than none. But they considered me nuts and claimed Father was 'one of the most important figures in existence due to his efforts to quell the world's spoiled brats all the while providing mass jobs to alleviate poverty'. Garbage."

"So he has friends in high places as well as low, and we can't rely on help from local authorities." The two concluded the locker-loading and shut them. "Why am I not surprised?"

"You brought it upon yerselves," a pausing passerby taunted, "You should've just listened to the man during training when you had the chance."

"We don't feel the least bit guilty about our decision," Mark retorted, "And you can take that to the board of education."

"I'll take it when I want to, dipstick."

"You watch what you say about my boy," Nancy warned.

"Make me, fluff bag."

"Don't you dare insult my girl," Mark said.

"Why don't you both just shut up."

"You shut up!" the duo chorused.

Another girl had noticed the spectacle and calmly joined in. "Hey, Carl," she spoke to the one passerby, "Try not to have too much fun with the losers, okay? Gotta save that energy for tomorrow's fight."

"Why, what's going on?"

"We're expecting a newbie, another former KND legend. McClintock High's got big plans for 'im, especially Cree Lincoln. C'mon." The disappearing departers cared neither if Mark and Nancy were listening nor about said outcasts' moods.

"So what else is new?" Mark groaned.

"And who does she think she's calling losers?" Nancy put in.

Classes thankfully passed with little to no fuss. But when it came to lunchtime, as always, the couple scrambled for food only to get pushed aside until everybody else obtained their meals. Only then could Mark and Nancy – keeping a watchful eye out for possible tripping – join in the feast. The lunch servers' hurtful expressions towards them hinted that the former would rather let the latter starve but refrained from thus only out of maintaining public support. The KND made things difficult enough as was. The two usually received and had adjusted to plates of some unidentifiable beige mass which tasted better than credited for. And, others had left them a table at one of the cafeteria's far corners. Within the first ten bites, they soon heard an informative conversation from the nearest quintet that seemed to echo above the constant other shouts. "A cannon?" one said.

"That's right," another explained, "And it's on Chickenpox Island, a remote landmark in the far reaches of the ocean. It's been pretty quiet for a good while until now. The last moment I remember them talking about teenagers infecting kids with chickenpox was a little over three years ago, when our friend Cree was a KND operative. This new guy named Maurice promised he'd find the island and destroy it even after she dropped out. Word has it he failed to keep that promise, and his 13th birthday's today."

"So why the delay?" a third wondered, "For Chickenpox Island, I mean."

"For one, the Teen Ninjas there needed all this time to perfect chickenpox weapons technology," was the answer, "Not to mention certain delays. I also said that today is Maurice's 13th birthday, so although it got perfected some time ago, Cree wanted to wait until he became ripe for the picking so he would fire it. She didn't tell me herself, but I can tell she has a crush on the guy."

"Yeah, well, he's just like the other former legends," a fourth reminded, "Legends are always resourceful. No telling what advantages he'll lend to our cause."

"Can you imagine?" the fifth member squealed, "Three whole weeks to ourselves!" By now, Nancy and Mark decided it best to delay eating and approach the quintet…which they did.

"That don't sound right," Mark interrupted, his voice silencing the room and drawing all attention the pair's way.

Nancy just gave the silent audience an irked look and said, "You don't hafta look at us like we're dinosaurs." Not that anything made much difference anymore.

"Well, we didn't ask for your opinions," the second member returned, "And you've already been warned not to interfere in our affairs."

"Couldn't help overhearing," Mark continued, "We just want some information, e'shi? A simple, harmless request. Warned? You mean threatened."

"Either way, why should we tell you anything?" the third queried.

"Gee, I don't know," Nancy smarted off, "Maybe because it really is as harmless as Mark says? Maybe because our question's gonna have no bearing on anyone's lives?"

"Yeah, like what?" the fifth member said.

"Go back a moment," Mark said, "You mentioned something about how long the Teen Ninjas have been around. Before a little over three years ago, was it? Before we moved here?"

"What's yer point?" the fourth asked.

"The meeting Haley brought us to," Nancy added, "The one instructor told us about new tactics or other when it came to Teen Ninja trainees. He implied that the Teen Ninjas had come forth only recently, maybe like a month or so before or after we came here. But your conversation has it the subdivision's existed much longer. What'd we miss? Why didn't that man keep his facts straight?"

Everybody else surprisingly took it well. "Oh, that," the first member said, "You'll have to excuse the poor sap. He's often not all there. Good help is so hard to find anymore, you know?"

"Your appointment's over," the third informed, "I need not repeat that 'threat', as you call it."

"I'd say you were all lucky if I believed in superstitions," Mark retorted. But since the procession resumed lunch ignoring them, what else remained but to return to their table and do the same.

Nothing noteworthy the next day besides other people's excitement over the upcoming battle occurred for the duo who no one minded. Talk of the spectacle rampaged Hendry Middle's halls. Come school day's end, Nancy and Mark chose to walk home like they usually did rather than ride despite their houses being a little over four miles away. Late afternoon hung above their heads. "The faculty must've either forgotten to treat us or felt generous today," Nancy noted, "They didn't assign us extra homework."

"Or perhaps they ran out of ideas," Mark suggested, "I seriously doubt…" He stopped in mid-sentence, and both halted at a cumbersome sight ahead. They then defied the clock running two blocks further and again remaining still at the sight of a street full of Teen Ninjas hovering like locusts, #4, #5, some girl dressed in a cheerleader uniform, and #9/Maurice (the couple learned about the fourth through online KND photograph archives which gave out little). All positioned on terra firma nearly lost balance with the Kids Next Door's U.N.D.E.R.P.O.U.N.D. containing the other Sector V operatives erupting from underneath the street.

"Ouch," Nancy said, "I can't imagine how this would go unnoticed." Seeing the Teen Ninjas gather the way they did was harsh enough, but the next scene enacted far more. Mark and Nancy really couldn't tolerate the bad group swarming all over the U.N.D.E.R.P.O.U.N.D. like that; it was just unbearably disgusting. Words never described the intensity better. Yet, neither could they tear away from it and head on home without a care. The fight stood between them and home. Everybody felt so concerned about battling over custody of Maurice that the couple was practically invisible. "Ugh. Now I've seen it all."

Still unnoticed, the two continued watching until #5 chased after her sister's transport carrying Maurice. "Er, maybe we better find a detour around," Mark decided. So off they went towards their right, successfully drawing no unwanted attention. "It's amazing what funds this town has to repair all the taken damage. Makes a person wonder how they can afford it? Father's funds especially are superb." Nancy just breathed in sharply.

A week passed with further excitement over a pep rally at the high school, for which almost all except (predictably) Mark and Nancy received invitations to. They got potential extra homework like they knew would eventually happen but pulled off quite a convincing act of caring only for that. Why, the first teacher admiration forsook any further possible tortures. Besides that, other students continued ignoring them for the most part since minor KND-supportive efforts abound hardly compared to the great scheme at hand although a few teases about missing the 'fun' went ignored back. A couple teachers nearly assumed the two might make great villains if they tried hard enough.

Outside of class at Gallagher Elementary, a certain quartet rummaged through the school's personal junkyard. Given sentiments shared with their older siblings, these young ones were almost never without each other either. "What color was it again?" Gonder wondered, "Brown with a bit of orange?"

"No, no, no," Harari disagreed, "Black like your shirt. Or was it mahogany?"

"I think it looks like a pterosaur," Abebe guessed, "So that means…something."

"Color or shape, I'm glad at least one person still thinks we're reliable," Tana noted, "Our teacher, no less. Didja notice? When's the last time anybody's asked us ta do something?"

"Am I interrupting?" came Cree's voice, the girl to whom the quartet faced. They must put on a façade while keeping firm should she try assault. "What're you br-…uh, I mean, cuties doing outside of class this time of day?"

"Our teacher told us to get something from the yard here, but we forgot what," Abebe answered.

"What're you doing outside of class?" Tana refuted.

"Well, my teacher told me to give you this flyer." Cree handed said item to Gonder, and the other three gathered round to read while the older one watched in satisfaction.

"A street fair, huh?" Harari said, "I ain't been to none o' those in almost a year. You sure we'll like it, that it's different from all the others?"

"You'll ruffle your feathers over it," was Cree's calm response before she departed. That's when something she forgot to hear out came up.

"Oh, goody!" Gonder declared, as if suspecting no irony, "I love street fairs!"

"Me too!" Abebe agreed.

"Yeah, but do you realize who just gave us the flyer?" Harari reminded, "That bad teenager your brother and our sister told us about. We can't trust her."

"Harari, you didn't let me finish. I love street fairs…but this isn't one of them."

"Oh, Gonder," Tana said, "Look, let's go find them after school, after we find whatever we're searching out here. So, does anyone have a magnifying glass?"

The sidewalks saw Mark and Nancy tear on down like hornets on a sugar rush while their twin siblings – having somehow completed the previous task – approached just as quickly from the opposite direction. How the older ones eluded capture no one knew, Hendry Middle and McClintock High believing they'd be stricken along with all the youngsters and therefore considering it a foolish move on the duo's part. Said lovebirds caught the quartet's voices sooner than the quartet themselves. "Mark! Nancy!"

The two older stopped to let the four younger reach them, and all caught their breath together. "We have…big…news," Abebe puffed.

Before it came, the older ones immediately embraced their respective siblings. "Oh, you two," an emotional Mark said, "You never looked better."

"Dehna," Gonder replied, "Nothing's keeping us down."

"We were so worried," Nancy said.

"Aw, nobody's gonna steal yer cookies," Harari 'assured'.

"Got that right," Tana agreed, "But we're not gonna be helping anybody unless you let us share the news."

The two older ones pulled away to listen as Gonder withdrew from her pocket and showed them the same flyer. "Remember that girl Cree whom you told us to avoid?" The pair shook their heads yes. "She gave us this thing for some street fair, but we secretly didn't trust her. And if everything you and everybody else said about her is true, something bad's gonna happen. That's why we came to get you."

"Likewise," Nancy informed, "Something bad is in store: They plan to infect those kids with chickenpox so that they'll have three free weeks to themselves."

"Chickenpox?" Harari declared, "What kind of…oh, never mind. We tried warning everybody, but they wouldn't believe us. Let's go do something!"

"Lead the way," Mark instructed. The flyer had a map printed on the back for those who hadn't any clue where the street was that held the fair (or any desire to find out through other means).

Four blocks later, Abebe noticed the oncoming chickens first and alerted the others to move faster. They never reached the street fair in time but became treated to a surprise only two blocks away: Someone had sabotaged the plan and made the chicken stream (Mark and Nancy noticed) impact McClintock High instead. Exchanging glances and shrugs, the relieved sextet went on back home skipping the fair.

"Wow," Tana commented, "Didn't see that coming. Hate to be in their places."

"I'd hate to be them, period," Abebe concluded, the others breathing sharply in response. Gonder then tore up the flyer and returned the pieces to her pocket until further notice.

Hendry Middle School and McClintock High School never looked so empty since nobody knew when. Most current attendees (very few indeed) other than Nancy, Mark, and Maurice had been absent from the rally when the plan backfired. The couple rather admired this unexpected reward of three weeks of less tantalizing time if nothing more. Four days after the chickenpox mess, Sector V minus #5 met the two after school of course in the neighborhood. "Hello, Mark," #1 greeted, "Nancy."

"What pleasure do we owe?" Mark inquired.

"Nuttin' much," #4 replied, "Jus' checkin' up on ya. We noticed ya been busy since we last met."

"Where's #5?" Nancy wondered.

"At home, she an' Cree sick with da chickenpox," #3 stated.

The Sector V remainder accompanied the couple back to the latter's residence. Conversation hinted Mark and Nancy's minor gall over the less-than-improved developments, but one subject in particular best stood out. Only one block remained between the procession and the Rekik and Tafari residences. "Frankly, we don't believe in that pa-tooey about kids creating adults," Mark stated.

"Aw, it was an awesome story," #2 said, "Why do ya think #1 posted it on the website?"

"Did you get that from some movie?" Nancy inquired, "Well, it doesn't surprise us."

"It was just a story I wrote, nothing significant," #1 said, him and his friends then bearing contradictory, no-nonsense expressions, "Or was it?"

"Quit fooling us," Mark requested, "We know that's just something to keep us hanging until someone uncovers the real story."

"You all have your opinions, but you fail to realize aging is a natural process," Nancy said, "Humanity wasn't meant to defy or escape it."

"We've come across a fountain o' youth once," #4 pointed out, "It's possible there were more but that this one survived bein' destroyed by adults. So tell us another one."

All paused for a moment as the pair thought, to which Mark did reach something. "When you get back to the treehouse, check yer genetic material and compare it to that of yer loved ones. If you find a match, and the equipment's in perfect working order, feel free to disprove the theory." With that, Mark and Nancy headed on home leaving the quartet thinking it over.


	8. Operation: DAKERE Part 3

"I'm telling you, the gym would look better in checks," Mark told Nancy one seemingly quiet school day on the way to their lockers. With lunch period having passed on by, neither yet minded the staring faces around.

"No, Mark," was the answer, "Pinstripes are the way to go."

"No, checks."

"Pinstripes."

"Checks."

"Pinstripes."

"Too bad neither of you is in charge of Hendry Middle's interior design," one person interrupted.

"Do you mind?" Nancy returned, "We're having our first argument here."

"Ignore him," Mark instructed. The two withdrew the necessary items for their fourth classes out of their lockers and proceeded on if not for a second interruption from the same classmate, who immediately stood in their way.

"Remember that incident with the former 4th-grade class president enslaving all the brats of Gallagher Elementary just to make some idiot his girlfriend?"

"We heard about it," Mark admitted, "But we wouldn't know too much since both our families were on a trip out of town when it happened."

"Both our schools are having it at each other later today," he continued, "We plan to enslave the bratty mother lode there and have 'em do anything we say. In return, 8th grade is getting five new students you might already personally know."

"Yeah, that's great 'n all," Nancy retorted, "Except, if you know what's smart, you'll not lay one finger on mine and Mark's siblings. On top of that, kindly clear out so I can get to my chemistry class and him to geometry."

"So it's confirmed," the classmate said, "You say you support the Kids Next Dummies, right? You call them heroes?" The two shook their heads yes. The classmate saw something barely hidden within both their eyes but dragged out the conversation just a bit further. "Where'd it go wrong, you getting blinded by a complete lie?"

"Whadda you mean?" Mark said.

"I noticed you've looked funky lately. Ask yourselves this: Are the Kids Next Door the heroes you believe they are…or do you now finally understand?" He held up a hand to prevent responses. "Uh-uh; I mean it. What're they fighting adults for anyhow? Are they sticking up for 'kids' rights' or acting this way for their own selfish desires? Think about it. All this struggling, and for what? Just to run around breaking whatever they get their grubby little paws on and purposely injuring themselves? Letting themselves waste away into large lumps of self-denial? Yet you continue inserting yer tokens of loyalty into their coin slots."

"Like you're any different?" Nancy shot back.

"Don't deny it. I said I can see it in yer eyes; you yerselves have deep down inside questioned some of the KND's escapades. Adults are the very reason kids even exist."

Mark and Nancy headed towards their respective classes at a slower pace with the classmate's departure. Such naysay opinions came their way time after time before, so this wasn't much different. Then again, those people did make good points. One prime example sapping the pair's support had to be the time when the Kids Next Door actually responded to a mother's distress call concerning her son being trapped in a deep cave behind his closet after a clothing avalanche. Alas, things were getting stranger all the time. Following rescue, the organization made her promise to never again tell him to clean his room. Of course, Mark and Nancy's main skepticism stemmed from infighting on the kids' side, particularly amongst Sector V with #4 sticking out like a sore thumb. This combined with denial, hypocrisy, and major inhumanity on both sides just didn't add up. Whatever happened to the old days when at least the KND knew the true meaning behind friendship and kindness? It probably made sense for most villains, but why did the heroes and also some regular civilians all of a sudden become cardboard? The KND were increasingly acting no better than their enemies. Yet, the couple couldn't find it in their hearts to just turn their backs on anyone. "I was doing fine until that moron brought up the mess we're in," Mark sighed, "Wonder why he spilled the plot?"

"You and me both," Nancy agreed. Caught up once more, they neither observed the lack of other faces nor caught an upcoming trap in time. "So whaddaya suppose we do when they launch the attack?"

"The Kids Next Door will obviously be ready," Mark surmised, "As for us…"

CLANG! A cage from above interrupted the male half in mid-sentence, and both instantly dropped their stuff in shock. Then out came multiple faces, students and faculty alike. From one side emerged the same boy who spoke earlier. "I forgot to mention," he said, "You traitors won't interfere this time."

"Where are you taking us?" Nancy questioned.

"I'll give you a hint," another spoke us, "You love snot-nosed kids so much, and we're about to destroy one of their main headquarters."

"Harm one hair on our brothers' and sisters' heads, and we'll tie you all up to a dead hemlock and let our crawly comrades do the rest," Mark threatened, met only with laughter, "You think it's a joke? Just watch us." A slot opened up beneath the pair that sent them into a basement and then careening through a tube deep underground. The ride's shock put Nancy and Mark into a temporary coma.

When they woke up rubbing their heads and groaning, neither wasted a second taking a closer look at their surroundings. The tube – now closed off – had dumped them into a dungeon at one far corner of Gallagher Elementary's Permanent Detention Room. Commotion indicated someone must've escaped although many prisoners yet remained. Unlike the other dungeons, this one ironically enough boasted a barred window to the outside just their height. "It figures they should send us here," a disgusted Nancy said, "The educational system is beyond messed up; this must all be illegal; these creeps have reached a new all-time low so deep that words can't describe it."

An equally disgusted Mark observed the main entrance. "And from the looks of things, nobody acknowledges our presence. They can't do this to us, but they did anyway. If we ever get outta here…" As he trailed off, outside noises brought their attention to the window. Hendry Middle School loomed over the horizon as almost every elementary attendee – Sector V included – carried on the fight using improvised cycles and scooters. Although the actual fighting started almost out of their sight range, the two new prisoners felt vexation returning for reasons they wouldn't say. "I don't believe I see our siblings participating."

"Probably chose to stay out of it," Nancy guessed, "Good for them." The preteens turned away from the window. "Unless a misfired projectile blows a hole in the wall, I don't see any way out. I doubt anybody's gonna come free us."

"Too bad we've nothing to use as a skeleton key," Mark said. Only then did they observe their cell more closely. Various items (some metal), dirty patches, and even a few tiny puddles of unidentifiable goop littered the floor. In short, the enclosure appeared as if nobody cleaned it in about five years.

"Hmmm…" the two concentrated.

The cell flung open with the preteens savoring freedom, having constructed a key from metal wiring found amongst the litter. Unrestrained, Mark unwittingly flung the first key toward the first prisoner crossing his and Nancy's path as they both left the room not wishing to see what developed next. Not even the preoccupied Hall Squad noticed the escaping duo exiting just in time to see Hendry Middle blow up. "Wow," Mark commented, "That'll put a real damper on the system."

"Where'd you come from?" came Abebe's voice. Both turned aside to meet their siblings, who seemed a bit apprehensive.

"We could ask you the same thing," Nancy said.

"The four of us hid in the bushes rather than fight," Tana explained, "Nobody trusts us anyway." The quartet then decided not to wait for hugs. "See you at home." Mark and Nancy exchanged perplexed glances at their siblings' apparent resentment.

"Funny," Nancy commented, "Did you see their expressions? All of a sudden, I feel like an alien around them."

"Me too." The pair then shrugged and followed, practically cutting school early. "Must be the day's exhaustion. I know it's been said countless times, but I hope tomorrow's a better day."

An event-less, temporary time span enabled some recovery. Siblings never interacted during dinner that evening or the next morning. Mark and Nancy noticed Hendry Middle up and running again, defying the previous day's incidents. The pair figured either super-speedy construction transpired while everyone else slept or maybe there existed a storage site for spare buildings somewhere. But their main concern was the creepy surrounding monotony. Not a soul bothered taunting them, and no traps had been set up this time. Perhaps yesterday wore them down? Were they devising a new plan in a far more clandestine manner? Whatever the case, something definitely felt wrong. Greater risk lay in attending their separate classes since the pair stood stronger together.

But trouble was imminent after the school bell rang. Mark and Nancy exited last whereas the other students ran off without another thought. "Outside in one piece," a relieved Nancy said, "So far, so good."

"If I weren't so spooked, I imagine enjoying today," Mark put in, "Whatever they're up to, we may find out sooner than we think." A sudden brush against the air made them stop. "Did you hear that?"

On the other side of the road, a blurry black shape crossed their vision. "Uh oh. Let's beat it." More mysterious noises and blurry shapes only agitated the couple more. "Who's there?" It wasn't long until fear sent them darting into a green enclave where they caught their breath. Careful observation lasted only a mere four seconds before the source of it all came either passing through the wooden gate or climbing over the wooden fence in numbers: a mob led by the Teen Ninjas.

Nancy and Mark – surrounded in a patch all to themselves – distinguished the mob into Cree, Chad, other Teen Ninjas, the former #12, and other miscellaneous faces from both Hendry Middle and McClintock High. All stood firm without crossing their arms but rather bearing cold, emotionless expressions: no smirking, gloating, chuckling, nada. Now the pair knew the source of those disturbances alongside true fear, though they'd nevertheless stand ground. "Whadda you want?" Mark questioned.

A moment's silence preceded the worst assault of the two's lives. Every present adversary unleashed his or her worst brutal beating yet. Mark and Nancy – tossing their backpacks aside – fought valiantly and kept their attackers at bay for a short time but of course were no match. Unfair defensive advantages a.k.a. Battle Ready Armor that only hurt their wrists and toes as well as unfair odds increased the horror. Physical blow upon blow contacted the poor victims' bodies hard. No matter how many attackers got flung aside, eight more stood ready. Also, regardless how much the pair endured, the attackers just came back nasty as ever. There existed no aid in sight. Sometimes the mob piled on one or the other and punched and kicked away. Other times several held a victim (standing up) still while another bunch administered the blows. With all this happening, through their unheard yelps, the two couldn't tell whether time was coming or going.

Quite some time passed before Nancy awoke. "Unnnh," she groaned, "Is it over?" She thought it must've all been a bad dream until she opened her eyes. "Ouch!" Standing back up proved easier said than done. "Ooch! Ooh!"

"Oop!" Mark cried, "Oh!" But they managed. Bruises covered their faces, arms, eyelids, and legs. Dirty, slightly torn clothing; mussed-up hair; and aching bones (thankfully not broken) added on. "Good thing they didn't break anything…I hope. Such victims aren't always so fortunate."

"Same here. I don't know or care why they came at us…oh, let's just head home." Their backpacks looked somewhat messy but better off than the preteens. Supporting one another, it took a half hour to reach the family homesteads. Good old home and a hot shower should provide relief, so they hoped.

But alas, trouble came in threes today. Parents for both families hadn't arrived home yet. Nancy got no further than the living room where Harari and Tana patiently waited. The apparent apprehension from yesterday was brought to light despite the twins' curiosity over their sister's condition. "She returns," Harari began, "What happened ta you?"

"Mark and I ran into some bad older kids. Now if you'll excuse me…"

"You stay right where you are, Nancy," a demanding Tana interrupted, "We hafta talk."

"What? What is it?"

"Harari, Gonder, Abebe, and I have made a decision: We want you and yer boyfriend from now on to pretend you ain't related to us."

"Please, I'm not in the mood for jokes."

"We mean it," Harari added, "Maybe now you'll learn to take us seriously and stop using us as your personal entertainment."

Nancy looked shocked. "What? That's not true. I've always taken you seriously. I told you that you always said things in a way that just make me laugh. I never used you; you did it naturally."

"I'm not hearing this," Mark spoke in his kitchen, facing the same problem, "I am not hearing this."

"Mark, try to understand that these are tough times even for us," Gonder said, "Like Tana said yesterday, nobody else trusts us. Nobody talks to us, invites us to play games, or anything. The teachers are the same way. Why? Because we're related to you two."

"Why must that matter? Last I checked, siblings were supposed to love each other."

"The two of you somehow confused everyone," Abebe answered, "Tough times call for tough measures; sacrifices must be made."

"At the expense of kin? I thought you four knew better. Who brainwashed you behind our backs?"

"No one, thank you very much," Gonder concluded, "Our minds are made up. Stay out of our lives, okay?"

"But…but…" The twins just ignored him and headed on upstairs. That's when the parents finally entered.

"Mark!" Endale cried, him and Ibex rushing up to their son the next moment.

"Dear, what happened?" Ibex asked, "Oh, never mind. Let's get you fixed up."

The showers helped ease much pain though a great fraction lingered. The demeaned preteens stood on the sidewalk between each other's houses shortly after dinner, dressed in sleepwear and staring towards the North Pole. Today's assault would weigh heavily on their hearts for indeterminate time. That mob didn't just beat them up but practically threatened them with everything under the sun. "I don't get it, Mark. Why is all this awful stuff happening? What're we being punished for?"

"I wish I knew, Nancy. I wish I knew."

Tears started forming in their eyes. "On the bright side, they're…gone for…a…short while."

"At least…we're…not alone." The emotional interior barrier collapsed as the two broke into cries nobody else heard. Ignorance of physical pain gave way to an embrace, their only sympathizers being the stars and moon above.

Nancy and Mark treated Chad and Cree's first warnings as law after that. The two quit helping anyone except each other or their parents, perhaps just until further notice. Older siblings came back to the younger ones three or four times early on before finally accepting the restraint; can't force the twin pairs to change their minds. The couple never spoke to other kids or preteens, and conversations with adults only concerned business. What cold attitudes the same mob bestowed upon them they returned to the rest of the world (again, except towards each other). Hendry Middle faculty must've waxed arrogant: Principal, superintendent, and administration – without another thought – let them change some classes so they could be side by side every school minute.

People around actually tolerated this newfound façade. Of course, nothing prevented the duo from brushing up on self-defense every once in a while just to be safe. Later days saw select interesting ordeals pop up though Mark and Nancy remained ever isolated. But today would break the sixth mold in their lives. It started that morning when they began withdrawing from their lockers for the first class. One of countless rude creeps plowed into Mark right before either locker door opened, knocking him into Nancy and them both upon the floor. Everybody else pretended nothing happened. "Okay, that wasn't my favorite moment," Mark commented.

"Just ignore 'em," Nancy reminded herself and her boyfriend. As they attempted standing up, two more happened by to shove them back down again. Then the creeps passed on. Still ignoring it, Mark and Nancy forfeited obtaining their stuff and chose to just press on not caring whether the teacher flunked them; such people didn't deserve to call themselves geniuses, much less human. But fourth and fifth annoyances stood in their paths following the rhythm as Mark and Nancy tried walking around together or separate. Irritated by the smirks, one punch across each face sent the human roadblocks sprawling backward.

That move at last caught all other students' attention. None cared what happened to the outcast couple but made it clear via disappointed expressions there was no way such defensive action would go free. An assault similar to the one in the enclave came slower at first but escalated bit by bit with the increasing number of attackers. Nevertheless, the couple fought much harder this time, making it clear they wouldn't be made simpering victims again. Battle Ready Armor – though protecting members of the Teen Ninjas –couldn't prevent all pain. The mob had aimed and fired a loaded gun at Nancy and Mark, who'd now turned that same gun back around.

Wouldn't one know it, aside from a few Teen Ninjas dropping weapons, the DCFDTL happened on by caught up in the mess. Ignoring guilt of using guerrilla tactics, Mark and Nancy halted everything by (A) swiping one dropped gun each, (B) grabbing the two tallest of the quintet (Mark the boy, Nancy the girl) into headlocks, (C) aimed a weapon at each grabbed head, and (D) let their threatening, puffing glares say the rest. The DC of course looked a mix between nervous and insulted whereas everybody else halted not knowing how to continue. "What's going on down here?" came Principal Hendry's voice. Many stood aside to let the authoritarian pass through, who immediately stopped short at the sight ahead. "Mr. Rekik? Miss Tafari? This better not be…"

"And we'll do it," Nancy threatened in a low tone.

The nervous principal advanced three steps forward. "Let…them…go."

Both outcasts stared him in the eyes for a quarter-minute, until something deep down inside snapped. No longer caring about repercussions, the duo released the DC (who walked slowly up to Hendry's side and joined in staring) and tossed the weapons back to the nearest Teen Ninjas. Then they awaited sentence. Another silent quarter-minute passed before Mark spoke up. "Go ahead. Tell our parents or expel us. We hate this place anyhow."

However, the DC had other plans. "Principal Hendry? If it's all the same, may we handle them ourselves?"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. We can do this."

The principal thought it over. "Uh…very well."

"Thank you." All bystanders watched as the DC walked up to the couple, who readied themselves for possible nasty surprises.

"Can you be helped?" Mark asked. Within three quiet seconds, the short blond boy handed Nancy a folded paper. Unfolding it revealed an invitation to some party or other, complete with directions to its location at the paper's bottom edge.

"An invitation, huh?" Nancy said, "To another lame birthday party? What makes you think we'd waste our free time tonight practically on our death beds drooling over witnessing you dummies eating a confectionary in the first place?"

"Believe what you will, but it's nothing of the sort," was the reply, "It is advised you attend the meeting."

"And if we don't…?" Mark began, cutting himself off at realization, "Er…yeah." With the DC's departure, principal and students returned to business as usual leaving the bewildered pair to contemplate.

"We're supposed to be dead, right?" Nancy remarked.

Everyone else within Hendry Middle no doubt took it all into consideration letting the pair off easy this time. The DC were – as a conglomerate – one of the KND's worst enemies. The school day came and went with little to no significance. Dinnertime at home was nothing new either. Both preteens stood at their same crying spot as before by the time the sky turned purple with a band of orange. Nancy held out the paper for her and Mark's viewing necessity. "Guess we better go for it, or they'll come after our kin," the boy decided.

"Yeah. We got a raw deal, but I still love 'em."

Unbeknownst to either, a group watched it all from several blocks away through a telescope: Sector V in their treehouse. Actually, #1 and #5 watched whereas the others busied themselves with leftover bubble wrap from the Safety Bots' last rampage. "And, off dey go," #5 said.

"C'mon, you two," #4 encouraged, "Have some fun."

"No, #4," #1 instructed, "The duo is on the move." At that, the other three postponed their activity and stood up serious-minded. #5 joined them as the lead operative gave instructions. "Reports say the Delightful Children have invited this couple to some sort of meeting. The plan goes…"

"I'll take it from here," came an interruptive, well-known voice. All turned towards the darkness and met the emerging #86's face.

"#86?" #2 began, "How you'd get in here so quietly?"

"The front door was open. Plannin' ta follow the duo?" Sector V shook their heads. "Perfect. Then ya won't mind me leadin' this one, will ya?"

"No thanks!" #3 said, "We can handle dis one well ourselves."

"Yah, the same way ye handled those Safety Bots wrappin' up yer treehouse."

"It wasn't our fault," #1 protested.

"No excuses! I fail ta see why #362 thinks so highly of ye. I ain't lettin' ya screw up somethin' as big as anything involvin' the duo, and that's that." The others just sighed; telling her otherwise was like putting together an automobile without a welding torch.

A quiet walk down the many sidewalks saw Mark and Nancy enter a courthouse-like structure, the latter tossing the paper into a recycle bin. Side doors were all locked, leaving just one at hallway's end. Both exchanged glances before entering. "Hello?" Mark called. The door then slammed shut without warning, thereby trapping the pair. Escaping was another story, as mysterious figures began crowding them. "Hey! Nancy, is that you?"

"I'm over here, Mark…hey, cut that out!"

"Watch it, you! What's going on?" No response.

"Okay! We know we're not the only ones here! How 'bout some light?" And it came on.

"Ouch!" the pair cried, shielding their eyes. With sight back into focus, a surprised Nancy and Mark found some of the last people they wished to meet: Father, the DCFDTL, Mr. Boss, and other various villains seen at the third one's parties. The room was decorated the way one would expect a standard courtroom. One soldier motioned for the two preteens to stand in the witness box, which they did. Father sat in the banch; the DC, Mr. Fizz, and Count Spankulot at the lawyers' table; and the others either in the jury box or elsewhere.

"Interesting costume," Mark commented, observing Father, "Are you those kids' real dad, or did you adopt them?"

"Court is now in session," Father spoke, ignoring the question, "Begin the prosecution."

Mr. Fizz and Count Spankulot stood up, the former speaking first. "Mark Rekik and Nancy Tafari, you are charged with crimes big and small against adults: choosing the wrong side; attacking pro-adult forces; helping enemies; causing massive chaos; and assaulting our clients. How do you plead?" Said defendants only looked irked, stimulating Mr. Fizz's temper. "Rrrrr. I said, how do you plead?" No answer.

Count Spankulot held up a hand. "Need ve do this the hard way?"

More silence preceded Nancy's response. "So, I take it you people failed law school? What if we did?"

"So you plead guilty," a calmer Mr. Fizz said.

"This isn't even a real trial," Mark defied, "We don't hafta answer a thing if we don't want to."

Small flames ignited on Father's back as he growled, "You better watch those tongues…oop!" Smoke triggered a water sprinkler that doused him while the 'defendants' shielded themselves.

"Anything to say in defense?" Mr. Fizz asked.

The outcast couple silently observed the many villainous faces around. With all they'd been through, describing their disgust as of now was all but impossible. "And you call the Kids Next Door complete fools?" Nancy spoke, provoking slight annoyance, "If there's one most important thing we've learned during our time here, it's that the only thing worse than a hypocrite is a hypocrite in denial."

"What's that mean?" Soccer Mom shot.

"We hear things," Mark explained, "Sources tell us you only feed kids vegetables so you can gorge on all the meat and junk food you want. You aren't carrying out this war to keep kids in line; you're only doing this because you've got problems you can't solve in mentally healthier ways and are just looking for potential victims."

"That's enough!" Miss Goodwall demanded.

"No, it isn't," Nancy added, "Even sadder, we actually think some of you are very talented but abusing it. For all we know, those few could very well be solving real problems such as world hunger and energy crises using those same powers. And you call the Kids Next Door wasteful? Look who's talking. The rest of you deserve the electric chair."

"You suck-ups!" Knightbrace retorted.

"Back to business!" Count Spankulot reminded, "Now then, ve are on tight schedules. If you vish to go home, all you have to do is apologize to those nice children for vhat happened today, revoke all support for the Kids Next Door, and submit to us instead."

Taking those words into account, Mark and Nancy calmly studied the DC and Father. Opinions from their twin siblings' classes had long since reached them that the quintet might typically be in trouble regardless of popular thought. Enduring unseen abuse with no mother to balance it out…criminy, those five must have it rough. (A/N: Remember, this is all pre-ZERO.) The preteens quietly neared the 'clients' and stood before them from meager distance, Mark's next words instilling surprise. "You're right. You're absolutely right. We are sorry for hurting you all this time."

"Splendid," Mr. Fizz complimented, "We are making progress. Do continue."

The pair then eyed Father. "Don't know about the second, but you can forget the third," Nancy continued, creating more surprise, "We're also sorry that you're their legal guardian. We wouldn't submit to you sickos if you buried us under a stack of thumbtacks."

"That does it!" the Crazy Old Cat Lady decided, "Playtime, kitties!" Before long, Mark and Nancy felt the entire villainous procession collapsing on them as if they were trapped in a cave. But they performed a tad better than the last two fights due to harder training and studying their opponents' fighting techniques. Guerrilla warfare on the duo's part came into play via sometimes grabbing a villain and using him or her as a weapon or shield. However, things still appeared dismal until an interruption in the form of #86 and Sector V blasting the door down changed all.

"How come we weren't invited to the party?" #2 announced.

"Get them!" Cuppa Joe screamed. Being better armed, the KND operatives performed a superior job over the outcast couple. Speaking of which, Nancy and Mark found themselves merely dodging those tossed about rather than fighting anymore; the two now stood ignored against the backdrop.

"This is the worst party I've been to in my life," Mark said, his girlfriend nodding in agreement and following him out the door.

By the time the couple disappeared, #86 and Mr. Boss encountered one another blindly exchanging blows until the former halted it. "Wait a second! Come!"

Mr. Boss followed his daughter to the empty space behind the banch. "Yes, Fanny?" he asked, rather irritated.

"Listen, Dad. We just want the two 12-year olds ye been speakin' to. Ye gave us no other choice."

"Oh. Well, c'mon."

Loud screaming from the father-daughter couple stopped the others in their tracks. "What is it, Mr. Boss?" an irate Father questioned.

"Code Iota," was the answer. All villainous eyes widened and retracted, letting the KND operatives regroup.

"Code Iota?" #1 wondered.

"If you want those dummies so much, be our guests," Chester explained.

"Kids Next Door, move out!" #86 ordered. The villains continued staring out the open doorway until the operatives fully disappeared, smirking the next moment.

"Yeah, that's right," Knightbrace summed up, "Let them handle the problem. We got other things to do."

"The Kids Next Door helped us?" the Toilenator said, "Huh. I guess this means we all received something out of the deal."

"For once, I agree," the Common Cold stated.

"Father, may we request that no one make mention of this series of debilitating incidents again?" the DC requested.

"Of course," was his answer, "This whole thing has left us drained."

By now, Mark and Nancy now stood almost three blocks away from their houses and counting. They only just entered the suburbs when #86's voice stopped them in their tracks. "Hold it right there!" Both turned to meet the KND sextet bearing weapons, #86 being more enthusiastic than Sector V. "That's far enough. You are to stop right here fer questioning."

"We didn't do anything," Nancy defended.

"A likely story. What were ya doin' in that courtroom fraternizin' with known foes?"

"You take that back, you little pickle puss," Mark retorted, "They held us hostage."

"Better watch yerselves. If ye know as much as ye claim, feel free ta register my rank in yer brains."

"You listen to us," Nancy warned, "We'd give you a wedgie, only we're not sure certain individuals would approve of it."

"Is that supposed ta be a threat? I'll have ya know I've spent much energy gettin' where I am today and that I'm tougher than the last nail in the toolbox. No operatives below my rank dare mess with me and live ta tell about it. Now ya either spill yer scheme, or I'll be drillin' ya some new holes fer brass doorknobs ta sell on the local market."

The untouched pair just eyed her for two seconds. "You're laughable," Mark then commented.

#86's shock gave way to rage as her cheeks and face contorted. "Uh, #86?" #1 squeaked before she could attack.

"What?" she yelled.

"Um…may we speak to them alone?"

#86 eyed her comrades (who expected a tantrum any second), soon calming down just a little bit. "Be my guest." And the frustrated girl disappeared behind the nearest suburban alleyway.

"Nancy?" #1 continued, "Mark?"

"You don't hafta tell us 'cause we already know," Nancy began, "We're big kids from Hendry Middle School; therefore, that makes us enemies. We get the idea. But that doesn't give you the right to rub it in."

"Whoa, slow down there," #5 said, "We just…"

"Save it," Mark interrupted, "The villains essentially held us hostage. Someone picked a fight with us at school today, and we ended up threatening to harm the Delightful Children to get the other students off our backs. We already said you don't hafta believe us."

The Sector V operatives eyed one another. "Um, yes," #1 picked up, "We just wanted to tell you to…well…"

"Stop fighting our battles!" #3 concluded.

"Er…what #3 means is…well, yes," #2 said, "Stop fighting our battles. We're the Kids Next Door, remember? This is our job. All you've mostly done is cause more harm by confusing everybody."

"Yeah," #4 chimed, "Just lay low until we say somethin', okay?"

The uncertain pair eyed each other, not yet knowing how to respond. But #5's next words had the intended effect. "Uh, jus' ta be safe, whose side are y'all on?"

The two sighed. "Good question," Mark began, "At the beginning, we really didn't think much about you, your enemies, or this whole mess. Later on, we saw your comrades in battle and began supporting the Kids Next Door. Then we began questioning certain things."

"You began acting as bad as your enemies, mostly infighting," Nancy added, "The times' ferocity saw us lose interest in helping others. Now, we don't know anymore. We only have each other; our parents don't listen to a thing we say, our siblings disown us, and our classmates treat us lower than dirt." (A/N: See the note at chapter's end.)

"It's funny," Mark put in, "Our parents were no more exempt from those robots' bubble wrap and saw the news reports themselves. They're a tad suspicious now, but they still deny the Kids Next Door and such.

"Even funnier you should mention lying low," Nancy said, "Because as of tonight, the Tafari and Rekik families hereby declare neutrality. We want nothing more to do with this blasted conflict, and you can share it with your friends and enemies."

"Wait a second!" #3 protested, "We just said…"

"We…declare…neutrality," the interrupting pair concluded, departing before the bewildered Sector V could state otherwise.

"That went well," #4 said.

"Back to headquarters, I guess," #1 stated in resignation. And Sector V headed in #86's direction. All was settled for now. Even as the demeaned pair lay in bed that night staring at the ceiling, at least they knew they'd always have each other no matter what. No one would break them down.

The End

Note: Did you catch Mark and Nancy's statements preceding the previous author's note dealing with their support of the KND? That and the story in general sum up my old fluctuating fandom: They're based on my own thoughts and experiences concerning the show's development. Also, my series treats SAFETY, ENGLAND, and AWARDS like they come before ZERO (the second one after all is a lead-in to the movie).


	9. Operation: LAMENT

Note: Occurs shortly after BRIDGE. Unless otherwise stated, my series assumed Season 6 episodes subsequent to ZERO basically took place after. This is based on my thoughts concerning treatment of #4. Regardless of the huge fanbase, I've often got the impression that few truly understand #4; all they ever seem to care about anymore is pairing him up with #3 (no offense). I also don't know what SPROUT was trying to prove, hence why I'm not even going to mention it any further than this paragraph.

**L**ad's  
**A**ttachment to  
**M**ouse  
**E**ases  
**N**ever-ending  
**T**ension

It was apparently a day like any other: another adult bugger on the loose trying to make children miserable. This time, Sector V stood inside a warehouse preventing members of the Proper Patrol (who hadn't done anything noteworthy in ages) from destroying comfortable children's clothing and replacing it with itchy, tight, more painful articles. This warehouse apparently fueled the Le Sissie shop they'd only recently destroyed with the aid of #20,000, his SKWID Squad, and #11-teen and therefore must be eliminated. Enemy gunfire almost hit each dodging operative while having no effect on background objects. "Heeyah!" #4 cried between given blows, "Hoo! Ack! Eeyah!" Although he felt no less disgusted at thoughts of wearing such monstrosities, something bothered him that nobody – so it seemed – cared to figure out. His excited cries blocked out all suspicion.

Shredded cloth and crate rubble littered the vicinity following the Proper Patrol's forfeiture. "Retreat!" one member announced, and all busted their way out the door, leaving behind a satisfied Sector V.

"Awesome," #5 declared, "We showed them."

"Indeed," #1 said, "Back to the treehouse. The call's due within an hour." As the others boarded the ship parked upon the building roof, the team leader lingered to talk with #4 in private. "Hold up there, toughie. We must chat."

#4 spared #1 a glance before his growling belly drew his attention for only a second. "Uh, can it wait, #1? The fight's left me F-O-4-N-W-6-N-S-B-T."

"Left you what?"

"Hungry."

"Whatever. #4, I have to say your performance back inside the warehouse was less than satisfactory today. You kept attacking thin air, and even when meeting a foe in the eyes, you scored few hits. You're usually a lot more active."

"There's nothin' wrong, #1. I'm okay; just doin' some…thinking."

The leader's shades drooped. "Thinking? That isn't your strongest point. Now try to not let this happen again." Rather than answer, a disgruntled #4 just followed #1 back into the ship.

All except the blond operative discussed upcoming important business during the return trip, ignoring their teammate. It seems the DCFDTL – returned from outer space where #1 not too recently flung them – were up to their old tricks again. Nobody could say what; all the more reason (as usual) for Sector V to attend a five-hour meeting that afternoon. "The Delightful Dorks, huh?" #5 said, "I saw 'em and Father in dat same clothing store we just demolished days ago."

#1, #2, and #3 jolted. "Why didn't you do anything?" #2 asked.

"Chill, folks. They wasn't causin' harm. Jus' shoppin' around." #5 stuck her tongue out in disgust.

"And you didn't get any information about whatever they're planning?" #1 said.

"Hey, #5 can only do so much. So many things were happenin' too fast."

#3 giggled at the memory of her teammates wearing bad outfits. "Did I ever tell you all you looked so, so funny?"

"Yes, #3," a patient yet annoyed #2 replied, "Too many times before."

"That's alright, #5," #1 assured, "We'll get our answer soon enough." Pfff, #4 thought at that, #5 hardly ever does anything wrong.

"I'm so hungry, I could eat thirty-two raspberry sundaes smothered with forty-three oatmeal-cranberry cookies!" #3 declared, "Can you top that, #4?" But the girl's chipper attitude faded when she noticed her receiver's absent response. "#4? I said, can you top that?" Another lost response made her edgy. "#4! Don't you hear me?"

Seeing him give her an irked look provoked another of an amused #5's many cracks. "Better answer her. Unless ya wanna spend a week fluffin' up Miss Flabbytoes."

#4 grunted. "What is it now, #3?"

"I said I could eat thirty-two raspberry sundaes smothered with forty-three oatmeal-cranberry cookies. Can you top that?"

"Fine. How does ninety-teen sausages with seven slices of cheese sound?" #1 and #2 all the while minded only the driving.

#3 exited the ship first once it landed safely in the Sector V treehouse, running toward the dining room ever famished. "Ooh, I'm gonna have one of everything! Maybe I'll start with a chicken sandwich topped with ten olives and a side of roast beef and a blackberry milkshake and…!"

Next came #2 trailed closely by #1. "C'mon, #1! Better hurry before #3 eats us out of treehouse and home!"

Then came #5, giggling at the entire spectacle. "Hee hee hee. #4, your imagination failed miserably. You couldn't dream yer way outta the world's smallest box. Hee hee hee hee hee…"

"#3 gets away with everything," #4 muttered, exiting last and slowest and glad to be back.

Short-lived relief entered the fray in the form of a smooth lunch break. New trouble emerged via the annoying alarm bringing the group into the control room to receive #362's message. "Greetings, Sector V. Sorry to alert you about the meeting on such short notice."

"You're telling me," #2 said, "I thought the planned time was 3:37."

"Change of plans. We've now moved it to 1 PM sharp, which is two minutes away. Better get those toes in gear!" And the screen faded.

"Alright!" #4 squealed, discovering apparent relief from the day's earlier maladies, "A trip to the new Moonbase! I've been there after construction just one time!"

Unfortunately, #1 must spoil his teammate's mood. "Sorry, #4, but you'll hafta wait even longer."

"Whaddaya talkin' about?"

"We need someone to guard the treehouse. The hamsters are out on vacation again." #1 sighed at the last detail. "Anyway, you know where the weapons are stored."

"Aw, c'mon! This ain't about earlier, is it? I'm fine!"

But it was clear the leader would rather ignore the subject. "Let's move out!"

A forlorn #4 watched the ship containing his team prepare to launch. "Is this about the clothing store? Or something else?" Noise pollution of the ship's rocket boosters and the fact that it got smaller in the distance did nothing to help the others hear out his concerns. "#11-teen told me #5 provoked them first!" Closed doors made #4 feel all the more frustrated and ignored, so he headed for his quarters with a grunt.

Out by the Uno residence's front door, a small gray mouse stood in a particularly thick patch of grass chewing on a blade and curiously examining her surroundings. Like few before her, the mouse exhibited great awe at the towering structure and tree above. Cocking her head, the rodent almost made out disturbing activity inside the treehouse and could no longer contain the urge to explore. So she spat out the grass blade, chose a path along which to climb, and proceeded along. Her trip took her inside various tunnels (without shedding a single hair) reserved solely for the hamsters powering the minor headquarters. Perhaps she guessed its complexity sooner, just not how.

Eventually, one turn led her right above #4's room, the hole's sanctity of which gave her a nice view. Said operative whittled his time away beefing up his muscles on yet another practice robot. Unlike many beasts who nowadays mocked him like nothing – namely the absent hamsters – the mouse seemed to admire him. Maybe the complaints over how no one respected him and that life gave him a raw deal too played a part.

By the time #4 defeated the robot, the mouse's curiosity overwhelmed her to falling through the hole and landing with a thump on the floor (nonfatal). The operative jolted before turning back to meet the uncertain rodent's gaze. Growling, he lunged at her but missed by centimeters. A chase around the ring created a mess no larger than two or three disturbed cords and equipment. #4 soon stopped to catch his breath, the mouse long gone. A grunt of 'hmph' preceded returning to exercise.

An hour passed by during which #4 stopped maybe once or twice for a snack. Come the second, the mouse left the sanctity of her hiding place to approach the action. She inched her way closer every twelve blows until she stopped short at the next robot collapsing because of defeat, uncertain all over again. #4 must've sensed her presence beforehand, or he wouldn't've also stopped short to stare her direction a second time. Sighing, the operative growled through his teeth but couldn't make the mouse budge. Growling and screaming didn't work either. Lunging at her spot made her nimbly yet calmly dodge aside. Ever impatient, #4 combined screaming and lunging all in vain; calming down, he noticed the fearless mouse eyed him like the two were friends.

But he may as well consider it passive derision. The mouse followed #4 as he sat on the nearest bench, standing near his feet staring as he sulked. Needless to say, #4 just wasn't in the mood. "Would ya please go away?" he groaned, "My life stinks." The mouse continued facing him with admiration in her eyes. Rather than defend himself, #4 observed her crawl up his pant leg, slightly tickling him, onto his shoulder. What happened next instigated tranquility, a tiny smile, and somewhat OOC notions on the operative's part: The mouse licked his cheek. She then leapt off as he stood up. "I guess yer a cute little thing. Scratch that; I know yer cute. Y'ain't got rabies or nothin', do ya?" The mouse squeaked several times. "I ain't sure I understand ya. How's about one squeak fer yes, two fer no. Are ya a koala?" She understood and squeaked twice. "You a mouse?" One squeak. "Are ya sickly?" Two squeaks again. "Wonderful. I'm gonna name you Razorfang, that okay?" One squeak again; #4's cheerfulness gave way to returned melancholy. "Spiffy. Ya probably don't wanna hear why I'm miserable, huh? Waste o' time, right?" Out came two squeaks, and #4 sighed. "I'm not used ta bein' this emotional, but I guess I can't hold it in forever. Come on."

Razorfang followed her new human friend around his quarters. #4's sob story might take the world by storm had it been broadcasted live. Nothing seemed fair where he was concerned, be it KND duties or home life. His parents were too ditzy for comfort; practically cared less what he thought. Many branded #4 as the 'stupid one' of Sector V due to multiple failures in missions outweighing victories. His bad temper at bossing the others around to build a lousy clam cannon nearly landed all but #1 a one-way trip to Pluto. That experience didn't make sense because #4 boasted great concern about all the attacking enemies whereas the others displayed utter apathy. Had he not typically inspired #5 to become the group's second-in-command?

Actually, no experience made sense. He'd foiled that one piano delivery with a hefty price: putting himself and then later the other Sector V members in traction, and a snide hamster attitude which later on spread to every single one powering the treehouse. Ugh! He owed those little schmoes big time for purloining from his sodapop stash.

'Purloining'. It's not that #4 was as big an idiot as most people thought according to his so-called lack of spelling genius, his so-called lack of mathematical genius, or his so-called inability to write a decent school report. As Razorfang learned, #4 only seemed like a supposed moron because he did awful when under pressure (very common amongst KND operatives). His own victories – very few indeed – probably shouldn't count according to popular, public standards. Cramping that villain meeting in the movie theatre happened by chance; he wanted to get in merely to enjoy something better than that dumb, repetitive Rainbow Monkeys feature and only defeated all those villains because Mr. Boss acted foolish enough to give the child a last request. Then again, didn't many other victories – regardless of the champ operative – also come about through a fluke anyway? Winning a Halloween bet of getting the most candy was a little better, so #4 supposed.

Speaking of that bet, why exactly did the other Sector V operatives poke so much fun at #4? Why did they (particularly #3) coerce him into certain activities against his will, much like adult villains force-feeding kids vegetables? #1 and #2 sure got a laugh at seeing the second-oldest of their sector hugging that giant Rainbow Monkey, which seemed a tad reasonable since everybody always poked fun at #1 and Lizzie being an item. #5's snide quips were nothing short of undying. The others also left him out of much: He rarely got to visit the Moonbase; #1 never explained the details behind tricking the Interesting Twins From Beneath The Mountain, who met the group under the alias 'Bobby'; and he missed his chance to sample a chicken nugget at that nugget rush (though perhaps that didn't count since it was all an illusion anyhow).

Certain mistreatments hurt more than others. #4 still hadn't learned how to swim to this very day despite the last encounter with the Destructively Nefarious Kids. Speaking of which, how come his counterpart received the greatest punishment while the other DNK were let off the hook like nothing happened? So what if Negative #4 was a complete bully? Those others caused just as much damage. #4 also owed the world big-time after that Tube-A-Thon seeing as how that blasted, goody-goody generic girl shredded his tube and landed him on an isolated dirt patch on the river; he couldn't tally the hours before rescue. Even more hurtful, it turns out #4's teammates got a good laugh at seeing him marooned inside a cardboard box two days after the tag game where #362 made Father give back her position as Supreme Commander.

Or perhaps having his teammates really side against him during a failed attempt to make his dad lose a bowling tournament struck him more deadly. Or a combination of the last two. In any case, such mistreatment might explain villainous leanings within #4. He'd gotten himself and #2 all but trapped on Bully Island, during which the latter learned the former gave Jerry Rassic a wedgie back in 1st grade. But the quondam Bully Fights made it dead clear for everyone else. His obsession over #3's dead goldfish most certainly endangered the mission of flushing it. And he'd rather no one, especially Razorfang, get him started on the Vaseball experience.

If anyone previously respected #4, he can't imagine where things went wrong. Like Benedict Uno/Father to Monty Uno/#0, #4 knew he now suffered from an inferiority complex to Joey and felt his baby brother must be ashamed of him. Joey's plan of confusing the Safety-bots into short-circuiting worked out for the best, though #4 got little more than a scraped knee which made him squeamish. And although Sector V's second-oldest couldn't recall the exact details, he had a sneaky suspicion that he didn't truly win his first encounter against the Dodgeball Wizard.

Was #4 doomed to his current social status for all time? #5 was second-in-command of Sector V; a top-notch spy; and commanded admiration and respect even of some villains, notably Stickybeard. #1 was leader here and son of the legendary #0. #2 was an expert pilot and inventor. #3 – regardless of her unknown past connections to #1 – was a medic expert; well-suited for distracting enemies; a tad philosophical; and one of the bravest operatives, her innocence handling tough situations most older kids would back away from. And what did #4 have to offer? Nothing but a bad attitude and blind brawn that only got himself and his teammates into more trouble.

#4 at last could take no more. Frustrated at life and the universe altogether, he grabbed the nearest practice robot and began tearing it to shreds, scaring Razorfang into the nearest hiding spot. Then he grabbed the second one (he'd used just two without putting them away) and started decimating that one as well. But mechanical mutilation wouldn't satiate #4's overflowing emotions; he then started tossing benches, weights, and other loose objects around the room and creating an overall mess. After that, he began spitting and spitting and spitting until his mouth ran dry. Pounding his punching bag landed a huge hole for the contents to spill from, so he pounded the nearest wall until his hands bordered raw. Following the tantrum, #4 relaxed long enough to catch his breath.

A pained squeak drew the operative's attention toward an almost teary-eyed Razorfang, who'd emerged from hiding. #4's head swirled with mixed emotions between remorse over his attitude and resentment at received ridicule. He gently neared the mouse and placed comforting, stroking fingers on her head and back. "Sorry, Razorfang. I didn't mean ta hurt you or anyone else on purpose. But, a boy or girl can only take so much." #4 eyed the messy room. "After I clean up this mess, how 'bout a snack? Shouldn't take more than two hours." The relieved mouse squeaked an 'OK'.

Within the passing hours, following cleanup, #4 and Razorfang spent the time eating the former's favorite candy while watching some television. However, neither could quite focus on the programs. The candy inspired an ironic smile on #4's face, as he'd seen a coconut variety in stores. He recalled the time Sector V battled Gramma Stuffum's ambrosia monster Glob who just happened to be filled with coconut. It was amazing #4's lips didn't swell up when he helped the others literally swallow the creature; maybe an unknown ingredient neutralized his allergies. Even more amazing, at least to him, was how something as small as Razorfang brought out his fanatical side.

Such made it a surprising thing that the pair should leave no mess around the treehouse living room and therefore no trace of their acquaintance. Losing track of time, #4 nearly sprawled over at the sound of the ship containing his teammates arriving back. "We're ho-ome!" #3 sang

#4 quickly picked up Razorfang. "Keep quiet," he whispered, stowing her discreetly in one pocket and then maintaining a demure façade just as the others entered. "Hey, folks. Enjoy the meeting?"

"Not really," #2 answered, "The whole thing was just a big blur."

"I told you and #3 ta drink some sodapop ta keep alert," #5 berated.

"So, #4, how'd it all go?" #1 inquired, "Repel any opposition?"

"Nah, nobody attacked," was the answer, "The villains must be on vacation or somethin'."

"Meetings make me hungry," #3 stated, rushing into the dining room, "Dinner time!"

"Wait up!" #2 called, joining her.

#1 and #5 headed the same way more slowly only to halt at seeing #4 head in the opposite direction toward the main entrance. "Where're you going?" the former asked.

"Eh, just takin' a walk. Guardin' the treehouse is boring work."

"Okay. Hurry back soon."

#1 entered the kitchen whereas #5 lingered a bit more, unable to resist giving another snide remark. "Hey, #4. Jus' remember dat the door closes before ya go." She giggled but stopped short picking up #4 muttering his own contemptuous statement – something like 'Zip it' – just as he disappeared outside. An irked expression preceded shrugging and joining the others.

Within the walk around the neighborhood, Razorfang (withdrawn from her friend's pocket and allowed to skitter alongside) and #4 happened upon the now quiet Rekik and Tafari residences. It turns out both families were of course amongst Grandfather's victims during his last rampage. One observer noted that Mark and Nancy unwaveringly held each other's hand the entire time. Following this, both individuals' younger siblings revoked the unofficial restraining order on the two older ones, promising never to do it again; and both pairs of parents at long last now believed everything about the KND and such. Rumor had it both families together disappeared while everybody else either recovered from the incident or worked on the new KND Moonbase's construction; some said the families still populated their residences, merely in underground facilities getting by through hydroponics and (for the kids) home-schooling. Many guessed they'd resurface when kids and adults dropped all age-based differences, which wouldn't happen for too long a time.

Not that #4 blamed them. Sometimes he found himself wondering why he and all other operatives kept this up when they knew one day they'd become that which they detested. Why continue when it was all basically in vain? What drove kids and adults alike to these urges? Combined with the infighting he personally experienced, #4 knew one sad detail in the grand scheme of all things: Their worst enemies would be themselves and each other, not someone like Father or Grandfather.

A plum-purple sky dominated by the time #4 led Razorfang close to the same river where he had that chicken nugget fantasy. No matter how much the following activity hurt him, the operative knew that was just the way it must be. He knelt close towards Razorfang's nose. "Listen, Razorfang. I'm sorry we got off to a bad start, but that ain't the reason I'm doin' this. You'll always be one o' the greatest friends I ever had; you've done more than I can repay all in one 24-hour segment. But my problems ain't yours. I don't wanna involve you any further. After today, I want ya to just stay away from the treehouse, me, the other kids, and so on. Just keep ta yerself, y'know? Please?" A teary-eyed Razorfang clung to #4's ankle, not wanting to abandon her new friend. "I know, I love ya too." He leaned even closer to whisper his last words. "Please. I wouldn't be doin' this if I didn't care. Remember: We'll always be friends."

Taking this news with a heavy heart, #4 and Razorfang exchanged a hug before parting ways. Every several steps away, the mouse glanced over at the operative fading in the distance. #4 just shook his head at the irony, hoping he'd at least remember Razorfang after decommissioning and that they'd meet again one day. Until that time arrived, it seemed things would never improve for him; at least he'd be excellent in one pair of eyes.

The End


	10. Not Mere Puppy Love

Note: This and my next fic/chapter are out of continuity with the show but not my previous stories. I will use the operatives' real names and mention little concerning the organization and so forth. All my stories mostly followed production rather than premiere order. Furthermore, unless someone proves me wrong, I take full credit for introducing this story's star couple to fanfiction dot net.

Never since previous days of battling adult tyranny did a certain sextet – five known best as the KND group Sector V – get to spend quality time like this together just as friends rather than military soldiers. Even Wallabee didn't care to badmouth the flowers as they all strolled through the nearest park; he, Hoagie, and Abigail stared on without a word. Kuki of course boasted the most enthusiasm, heading the procession in a slow skip while humming her signature 'La la la'. Nigel and Lizzie – the latter of whom felt a newfound urge to give the former's pals a chance, something they passively accepted – had median moods. Synchronization escalated into separations upon reaching the park's largest natural flower patch. Nigel, Lizzie, Hoagie, and Kuki burst forward (the fourth still more energetic than the first three) running amongst the plants albeit careful not to hurt them. Wallabee sat on a nearby bench watching it all whereas Abigail preferred leaning up against a tree, some distance separating both. "Yee-hah!" Kuki cried, "Whoopee! Wheeee!"

Lizzie and Nigel soon met each other's gaze at a halt, the female half teasing her boyfriend. "Oh, Nigel. You can't tell me you're upset to be away from that cramped treehouse. Even if it is a wonderful piece of work."

"Okay, Lizzie, I admit it. I am glad." Nigel absorbed Lizzie's kindly temperament, something he last best witnessed the time she used that firefighting couple's hose and Amy Baron's airplane for poetry. Recent days in the conflict between children and adults had seriously threatened their relationship.

Kuki stopped prancing about long enough to pick some flowers to make into necklaces. For the most part, it seemed she enjoyed the day without a care in the world. "Ah, what a day. Isn't it just something?" The bubbly girl completed exactly six; put one around her neck; and headed Hoagie's way, the boy of whom was kneeling down apparently occupied with more than just observing the plants. "Want a necklace, Hoagie?"

Said boy jolted a tad, stood up, and faced the girl with a solemn expression. But his squeaky words defied his face. "Yes, Kuki?"

"Here you go!" She slipped one around his neck before he could protest and then left him dumbfounded as she distributed the rest while chuckling. Nigel and Lizzie gladly accepted, but the two oldest of course were another story.

Abigail held out an open hand in decline. "Nuh uh. Thanks anyhow, but Abby don't want it."

Also holding out one hand, Wallabee recalled past unpleasant experiences and made his response extra-direct. "No…thank…you." With that, Kuki shrugged and decided she and Hoagie could have one extra each. The heavyset boy again didn't question it; in fact, the bubbly girl even in return received a tiny smile.

"Time to move," Nigel announced, encouraging all to reconvene.

"Aw, do we hafta leave so soon?" Kuki whined, "I'm having too much fun."

"Think of it this way, Kuki," Lizzie explained, "Other places want us to visit that are just as nice as this one. We have to equalize our time or…we'll be stuck…somehow."

"Oh, okay," Kuki submitted, cheering up all over again the next second, "Will we see any adorable snails? Oh! Maybe some chipmunks! Or cardinals! No, finches!"

"All that and more," Lizzie continued, "You just keep namin' em."

By all six children's first steps out of the park, Abigail looked bemused at the other two girls' conversation. "Not bad, wouldn't'cha say?" she remarked, nudging Wallabee.

"Whatever," was the answer, "As long as I'm not in it, I'm glad." No one yet noticed Hoagie holding back much emotion, his eyes transfixed on Kuki's happy expression. I can never get enough of that smile, he thought.

The group's travels brought them to a small quarry on a suburban hillside. Few other people had long since happened by, either digging up plant fossils or simply collecting whatever pieces they considered most appealing. An entire mess of fractured rock blanketed that hillside like a hidden force kept it from going further. "Oooooh!" Kuki observed, "Look at all the pretty rocks! I think I see one shaped like a house!"

"Whee," an unimpressed Wallabee stated, "Rocks."

"Abby ain't much fer diggin' today," Abigail agreed.

The others paid no attention to Hoagie gathering up three rocks like they did Nigel's next words. "Rocks aren't too bad, I suppose. So many things to do with rocks: sculptures, pottery decoration, rock necklaces, so on and so on…" His mood faltered. "…even though I've never been up for trying that stuff…"

"Not to mention good exercise and stress relief," Lizzie added, "You may not find anything special, but at least it takes a lot off yer mind."

"Check this out," Hoagie announced, grabbing their attention. The boy then began juggling three rocks, impressing more than just his friends.

"Awesome," Lizzie, Nigel, and Wallabee said.

"Not bad," Abigail admitted.

With everybody around watching admiringly (some also amazed the boy handled it carefully), a giggling Kuki – rather than speak – took the action further by first picking up a fourth rock. "Catch!" Tossing it Hoagie's way made for a more amusing spectacle at the expense of balance: The fourth rock happened to be half the size of a standard sheet of printer paper whereas the other three were radishes. But he nevertheless kept going on until an interruption stopped everything.

"Careful," came an adult voice from behind.

"Yipe!" A jolt preceded Hoagie's faltered grip, the rocks plopping on the ground with the largest shattering and nobody hurt. Then he faced the source

"Don't wanna hurt yourself or anyone. Sorry for the scare." And the adult walked away.

"Okay, let's move," Lizzie decided, taking over the lead.

"Did you not want to collect some rocks?" Nigel asked seven steps down.

"Yeah, but I haven't got any bags to carry 'em in. I can always come back tomorrow."

That's when Abigail noticed a smug look on Wallabee's face. "Whadda you so smug about?"

"'Not bad'. Hoagie actually impressed ya. Don't hide it."

"Uh huh. Of course."

"You liked his juggling act! You said so yerself!"

"Whatever yer thinkin', shorty, don't." Nigel and Lizzie just shook their heads at Wallabee constantly chanting 'You were impressed' while Abigail vainly traded back her own usual quips. Hoagie only stared ahead ignoring it all. And Kuki thought to herself, I wonder if he's seeing anyone?

Nigel and Lizzie had other places to be late that evening, leaving the Sector V treehouse to the remaining four. Wallabee busied himself strolling throughout the structure humming tunes, interested in neither working out with his training robots or equipment nor in playing video games (for the second one, he hadn't any partners for those games requiring two or more players). Abigail used her time reading a novel. Hoagie and Kuki together spent time watching television but sat apart. Pretty soon, Kuki grew bored and so retreated to her personal quarters, making sure not to bump into anyone.

Making sure the coast was clear in more ways than one, Kuki inched little by little forward. "All's good," she muttered, her face turning surreptitious. Slinking about the room gave way to kneeling by one heavily crowded corner. After looking around once more, her arm dove into a wall of various plush toys. What she withdrew inspired mock-maniacal laughter low enough to avoid drawing attention: a plush hippopotamus. Intriguing enough, this toy resembled Hoagie: similar waistline; same pilot's cap; and the same hair tuft under the previous detail. "Aw, come on now," she spoke to it, "You know I can't resist the laughing. Makes the mood suspenseful." Kuki hugged the hippo, making it even clearer only to the heavens that she held romantic feelings for Hoagie. The toy was two-fold, first being bought at some store shortly after liberating some kids from Camp Lemmeouttahere and then personally modified by the girl to resemble her would-be beloved. "Ohhhh…"

By now, Hoagie – also having grown bored of the current activity – followed suit switching off the television and heading to his room as well. He calmly ignored a passing Wallabee on the way, the heavyset boy's walk appearing more casual to the naked eye in comparison with Kuki's. Nothing seemed strange about walking up to his bed until he reached the top. Also searching out a clear coast, Hoagie put on the same surreptitious expression as he withdrew from a built-in case behind his pillow a box. Quieter mock-maniacal giggles outlined the box's contents: an amphibian airplane painted entirely black, having white streaks on the tail section fashioned after a skunk, and Kuki's face painted on either side of the engine covering. Akin to the hippo, Hoagie had bought the plane at the same time and secretly gave it his own personal touch-ups; parenting Bradley for a short while had that effect on both children. Hoagie now held it to one cheek, massaging the tail as if it were the girl's hair. "My little beauty. If only we…"

"Hello?" Wallabee called, standing at Kuki's door and startling both dreamers out of their fantasies, "Anybody home?"

It turns out an unused, open pipe connection linked the two rooms. Hoagie couldn't make out much since one of Kuki's toys blocking her opening muffled any sounds, but he definitely recognized the voice as belonging to the group's second oldest. A startled Kuki quickly stowed the toy and then stood in her room's center. "Come in, Wally!"

And he did. "Hey. I heard laughter two corners back. What's so funny?"

"Aw, you know me," was the lie, supplemented by a hand wave, "I always laugh so loud."

"Sounded like evil laughter."

"Well, of course it was. I hafta laugh evilly if I'm the treacherous Queen Vaughn of the Second Quasar Galaxy and…um…Mr. and Mrs. Boopashmoop are the heroes to end my reign. Sorry I didn't include you too, but I'm practicing."

"Relax. I didn't say I wanted ta join. I was jus' curious, that's all. So, see ya."

"Okay, bye!" As soon as she saw Wallabee disappear around the next corner, Kuki breathed a relieved sigh. She'd reveal her secret when she decided.

Hoagie felt neither thrilled about that meeting nor itching to tar and feather a friend. It was no secret: Wallabee had apparently boasted the same kind of feelings toward Kuki for quite a long while, something many people knew too well. He'd demonstrated signs of jealousy whenever another male tried flirting with her or brought up similar details. He'd referred to her by her real name more often than codename, and he did it more so than other KND operatives. And every time death or at least extreme failure arose, it seemed he would almost tell her until another factor interrupted. It was strange how Wallabee exhibited interest in Kuki but not stuff considered 'girly', namely romance. But investigation must wait since Hoagie understood the damaging effects of misinterpretation no matter how strong the so-called evidence.

Toy plane and box long since stowed, Hoagie now headed into the kitchen feeling thirsty. He and Kuki – the second snatching a pair of ice cream sandwiches from the freezer – jolted at making each other's acquaintance but felt calm for the most part. "Hi, Hoagie," the girl spoke as she headed past, "Just came for a little snack."

"Yeah, I'm feeling thirsty. Nothing big."

"Alrighty then. Good night."

"Good night, Kuki."

Hoagie got no further than grabbing the refrigerator door handle when Abigail entered. "Am I interruptin'?" At the sound of the older girl's voice, Kuki (coincidentally near the opposite side of one wall separating hallway from kitchen) stopped in place and listened hard. Like the covered-up pipe end, the wall muffled not the recognizable voice tones but certainly the exact spoken words.

"Hey, Abby. Just getting some juice to drink. Hope that's okay."

"Abigail's got nothin' against it, as long as you don't put yer mouth on it like you've done before."

"Whaddaya make of me, a vacuum tube?" Abigail actually giggled at that one, surprising the boy. "Huh. And I wasn't even trying."

She shook it off. "Enough games. You know what happened to all da salted walnuts?"

"We don't have any salted walnuts."

"Oh. Musta had my mind on somethin' else. Never mind." The thumping of footsteps worried Kuki that Abigail might be headed towards her, but hearing those steps going the opposite direction created relief before she retreated again to her room. Abigail's experiences with Hoagie were just as much an enigma to Kuki as Wallabee's experiences to the younger girl were to the pilot. Hoagie had to be second to Kuki concerning romantic pursuits. His feelings of course had been geared mainly toward Cree until the time he accidentally turned himself into a teenager, after which those same feelings departed (only to – not counting Hoagie's nightmare few knew about – return a short moment when said female youth flipped out once over a zit). Instead of succumbing to wrong ideas, Kuki too found it best to save it perhaps for tomorrow. Ice-cream sandwiches called her now.

The next day held a plethora of amusing activities weakened by Kuki and Hoagie's hidden feelings. It began that morning within a more open section of the same park, the six running about playing a game of catch using a rubber ball traditionally reserved for dodge ball. "Nigel!" a running Wallabee called, "It's yours!"

Nigel caught the oncoming projectile. "Lizzie!"

Lizzie caught it. "Kuki!"

Said catcher held her arms up but missed the ball and couldn't prevent it from sailing right over her head. "Oops!" It sailed right into a nearby bush. "Don't worry! I'll get it!" The others stood by waiting as Kuki retrieved the ball. She stuck her arm into that bush but withdrew it just as quickly. "Ouch." Waving her arm for relief, a closer look revealed the bush having thorns and the ball being situated at the center bottom still intact. So Kuki gently lowered in the other arm and worked it along like sticking it down a clogged pipe. Every time a thorn pricked it, she remained calm adjusting position while pressing on; she pricked her arm at least four times, and the bush's remainder began digging at her chest.

"Wha's goin' on?" Abigail called.

"Don't yell," Kuki whimpered. Again, getting the ball without hurting herself proved easier said than done without using both arms; she wouldn't take that risk. Only by pulling up the one sleeve to unveil her hand despite lack of protection could Kuki obtain a decent one-hand grip. Extraction went well until a thorn got caught on. Tugging harder seemed to dig it deeper, but a brisk thrust out due to the girl's frustration tore a hole and therefore rendered the ball useless. "Awww."

"Need some help?" Hoagie offered as the others joined her. Disappointment came in the form of Kuki facing them and showing the deflated plaything.

"Awww," Wallabee complained, "There goes the game."

"It's alright," Nigel assured, "We can do something else."

Déjà vu was well at hand since the group found themselves at the same quarry again as well. They'd all grabbed some bags beforehand, especially Lizzie, making small yet various stone-based crafts available. "So, Lizzie," Abigail said, "Whatcha plannin' ta do wit' da rocks you collect?"

"I'm glad you asked," was the reply, "Stone picture frames. Some might say it can't be done, but I'll prove 'em wrong. I've brushed up on special mason techniques to cut these small wide slabs into thinner ones. Didn't know I had it in me."

"Help!" a muffled Hoagie's voice cried out, "I'm suffocating!"

"Hoagie!" Kuki cried. The boy was stuck inside one particularly large plastic bag, all but his feet covered. Pulling it off proved futile since his constant struggles for air made things worse, so the others instead helped tear it off.

"Ah, relief," Hoagie declared, "Thanks, friends."

"No problem," Nigel answered, "What're you doing inside that bag anyway?"

"I thought I dropped something in it, so I took a peek."

"Why not empty it out the old-fashioned way?" Wallabee queried.

"Let's just say distracting thoughts will do that to a person. Don't ask what."

Things wouldn't change as the day progressed. Four more activities all ended with each of the others experiencing their own mishaps. In the midst of woodworking, Abigail hammered off part of a thin piece sticking out from her cabinet so hard that it went flying across the room. She couldn't dodge like the others due to shock; the piece clobbered the back of the quiet girl's head and sent her fainting, all without cutting or breaking anything. Hoagie, Wallabee, and Lizzie kept her calm while Nigel headed off to obtain an ice pack, almost having to shout at a diverted Kuki for unwittingly not letting him through. But that changed in a second when the youngest came to.

Later scenes showed the kids going for what should've been easier activities. Untamed dogs sent Nigel into a forced jog with Wallabee, Abigail, and Lizzie trailing close behind during dog-walking. The remaining two took no notice until Abigail called them out. Next, they spilled snacks all over Lizzie during a film at her house, receiving an irked yet calm look. And it took Nigel, Lizzie, and Abigail's voices combined to draw their attention once more to help pull Wallabee's foot somehow stuck under a tough tree root. The results sent them sprawling backward.

All six stood at one street corner by day's end. "This is ridiculous," Nigel started, "Hoagie. Kuki. You've both been acting dotty all day. You spilled chips and pretzels all over Lizzie, we barely get Wally's foot unstuck…what's the deal? Are you two sick?"

"No, it's not what you think," Hoagie spoke, "I just…we just…"

"Yeah," Abigail picked up, "We all been workin' too hard, I guess. You two go on home an'…"

"Get lots of rest," Kuki interrupted, "I got lots on my mind, and I could use a good nap. Bye bye!" And she departed.

"Me too," Hoagie decided, not in the mood for more, "So long." Seeing them both gone, the group remainder thought it best to follow suit and headed on home as well.

Come nighttime, remaining hours spent either sitting still thinking between sitting on his bed and consuming dinner, Hoagie thought it best to phone Nigel. Two rings preceded the latter's father Monty picking up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mr. Uno. Is Nigel home?"

"I'll check." Monty covered up his phone's speaking end and faced the opposite direction. "Oh, Nigel! Telephone!"

The bald boy entered like nothing to accept the phone, and Monty left. "Hello? …Ah, Hoagie. Are you feeling better? …Good. Ready to share about your deal today? …Beg pardon?"

"I just said I'm in love with someone. Same way you feel about Lizzie, I'm sure."

"That explains a lot. Anyone in particular?"

"Dare I say it? Our good friend Kuki Sanban."

Nigel looked surprised yet playful. "Well, now. I admit I didn't see that coming. Cree, Fanny, or maybe even Abby, but Kuki?"

"I know, we barely interact together though we can get along well. Finding and watching over Bradley must've done something to me. She's just as sweet, cuddly, joyful, and…and…so on. Before I continue, let me say I finally sympathize with you and will be the first to apologize for all those times I laughed at you and Lizzie."

"Accepted, old friend. Now where is this all going?"

"Hoagie?" Lizzie said into her phone, "You're in love with Hoagie?" It turns out Kuki had the same idea as said boy and so turned to the group's other trusted source for possible advice.

"Dat's right. Why, is there something wrong? Be reasonable."

Lizzie calmed a bit. "Right. The small things don't matter. I just always thought you might end up with Wallabee Beetles instead according to the evidence."

"Huh?"

"What, haven't you heard? Everyone around town knows you two could very well have something going on. The evidence is plain as day."

The same disturbed look Kuki wore at Fanny Fulbright's one slumber party returned. Was this what those other girls meant by 'Do you like Wally'? All this time, and such ideas never occurred to Kuki even once. "Wally likes me? He likes me? And I didn't know?"

Lizzie looked dumbstruck. "Yeah, that's the entire plum pie."

"I always thought he wanted to play games with me or that he really liked Rainbow Monkeys no matter how many times he said no. But I like Hoagie more than a friend, not Wally."

"Why is that? Just asking."

"Well, he's so…silly! And strong and smart and…more things. I know we fight a lot, but doesn't every couple? Even so, we fight so much like a real married couple. Did you know we took in a baby skunk and named him Bradley? We found his real parents da same night, but we still spend time with him ever so often."

"I see. Nigel told me he's a cyborg now."

"Yeah, but he'll always be so cuddly. Just like my dear Hoagie P. Gilligan, Jr." A happy sigh preceded disappointment. "Too bad I might not have a chance."

"What're you talking about? What, he'll freak out? Not if you tell him gently…unless you mean competition."

"Dat's it. I think someone else might love him the same way."

"Lemme guess: Fanny Fulbright, Cree Lincoln, or maybe…Abby?"

"Yes. Abby. I know it sounds strange, but seeing her complain about Hoagie's jokes makes me think she might actually like him. Ever hear of 'You hurt da one you love'?"

"Sounds like you just contradicted yerself. What about Wally?"

"Oh, details. Look, I wanna tell Hoagie how I feel, but I don't wanna hurt Abby's or Wally's feelings. Any tips?"

"You called the right expert. As I said before, you must break it to each one gently. Whenever you're ready to confess your feelings to Hoagie, go for it. But start with the other two. Tell Wally you both can at least still be friends, and then confront Abby. You've played around especially with Wally's feelings long enough."

"And if I fail no matter what?" Hoagie continued.

"Let it go, of course," Nigel answered, "Hoagie, if you don't tell her now, it'll eat you up inside. I myself am glad Lizzie and I did it when we got the chance. If not Kuki, I need not repeat that old adage concerning fish."

Silence on Hoagie's end must've hinted he took his friends words as food for thought. "Okay. That's all I needed to hear. Maybe I'll start tomorrow."

"Perfect," Nigel continued, "I shall call Lizzie and plan things out from there." The bald boy then hung up, waited a few seconds, dialed Lizzie's number, and waited for an answer. "Hello, Lizzie?"

"Hey, Nigel. Never saw this call coming; I was gonna phone you first. Did you know Kuki has feelings for Hoagie?"

"So you received the same news. That means I need not explain much."

"Fancy. I take it a plan's concocting inside yer head?"

"Indeed, there is. To start off…"

The following afternoon saw some real action in comparison to earlier hours. It began inside the treehouse with Hoagie stepping into Wallabee's room, the bored occupant in question laying down staring at the ceiling. Such didn't falter even when the heavyset boy spoke up. "Um, Wally? Hope I ain't interrupting."

"Nothin' doin'. These past few days, and I been outta good ideas inside the treehouse. Need somethin'?"

"Um…what do you think about Kuki?"

A suspicious Wallabee looked in his friend's direction. "Why ask?"

That's when Hoagie knew it was now or never; he stood firm and spilled all. "There are lots of rumors and visible signs going around that you and Kuki might become each others' sweethearts. Well, surprise of surprises, that's how **I** feel about her. I could be wrong. Not to destroy our friendship, but I'll gladly accept a fight for her heart if necessary. I won't hesitate."

Wallabee's face resembled a ticking time bomb until his next words displayed otherwise. "You won't hafta fight me at all. Want her, take her."

Now Hoagie felt suspicious. "You mean it? No catch?"

"If yer that wild, go fer it. I don't care."

"But what about all the signs and such? Didn't you once have a crush on Kuki?"

Wallabee thought hard. "Okay, ya got me. I thought I liked her more than a friend. But it turns out she merely reminds me o' myself when I was really little. Until…" He trailed off.

"Until what? Did she do something bad?"

"Nah, nothin' important. It wasn't her. Anyway, I guess I just lost my crush without trying. She's all yers."

Hoagie's face welled up with elation. "Oh, goody! I…I…"

"Better get goin' before I change my mind. Tell 'er I said so."

"I sure will!" And the heavyset boy quickly departed.

Unsurprisingly and simultaneously, Kuki had the same chance with Abigail in the older girl's room. It started when the older girl busied herself listening to music, eyes closed and one with the universe. Kuki, once inside, needed shake Abigail's shoulder to attract her attention. The occupant snapped out of the trance eyes open, turned off her device, pulled off the headphones, and put the entire thing aside. "You called, Kuki?"

"Um…Abby…I just wanted to…I'm not sure where ta begin…"

"Da's easy. Da beginning, no less."

Kuki shook off the nervousness. "Okay, okay. Time's wasting. Why do you always pick on Hoagie for his jokes?"

"Isn't it obvious? They're lame. You'd do da same thing, wouldn't…?" Abigail trailed off, realizing where this was headed. Crossed arms and an irked face complemented her next words. "Aw, no. You ain't thinkin' dat, are ya?"

"Perhaps. 'Cause whenever a girl and boy fight so much in certain ways, it usually means dey like each other more than friends. And the way you keep pouncing on Hoagie, I wouldn't doubt it."

"You and Wally fight a lot…you like Hoagie instead?"

"That's right."

"Don't tell me: In case **I** feel da same way about him, you'll fight me without question."

"Like Lizzie said, dat's the whole plum pie."

Abigail thought it over. "Mm hm. But Abby is surprised. To spare you the trouble, skip da fight and tell 'im already. It ain't whatcha think."

"Whaddaya mean? Are you saying he's not good enough?"

"Le's not go there, girl. Abby's speaking the truth: She's not currently lookin' fer romance right now. Even if…" Abigail trailed off.

"What? Even if what?"

"Never mind. Now, about face and go confess."

A departing, pleased Kuki couldn't believe what she absorbed but went along with it anyway. "Uh…okay! Have a nice day!"

Carrying one rolled-up paper each, both lovesick children's hearts skipped a beat once they met in the treehouse living room. "Kuki," Hoagie stated, "What a surprise." He unrolled his paper and showed off a map. "Nigel drew up this map for me. There's something I wanna tell you, but not here."

Kuki then unrolled her paper, an identical map. "Well, now. Lizzie told me the same, and now I'm gonna do the same." The nervous pair headed for the stairs down to Nigel's house; at this, they slipped and rolled on down – mingling together in midpoint – until reaching the bottom in a dazed mess. Neither hesitated to stand back up with concern.

"Are you alright?" they chorused, followed by a jolt. Smiles then came up as if nothing happened.

"That was fun," Hoagie joked, "We make good partners."

"We can take a lickin' and keep on kickin'!" Kuki chimed. Laughs from both parties ensued.

Once outside following the maps, Hoagie and Kuki spoke nothing more just yet due to full minds. In fact, they could barely face one another. Both wondered what the other thought; was a relationship at hand? Would it work out? Did one harbor the same emotions as the other? Typically few questions seemed like too many, but it indeed passed time on the long walk to a picnic table (both couldn't tally up how many times they'd visit the same old park this week) where Lizzie and Nigel awaited them. "Nice to meet you, friends," Nigel began, "Stand or sit if you wish."

Exchanging glances, the new pair decided on sitting. "What's going on?" Kuki wondered.

"We believe you two have something to share with one another," Lizzie answered, she and Nigel departing, "Hope all goes well."

Kuki and Hoagie observed their surroundings but found nobody else; redundance over repeated visits here must've affected the general public today. Either way, both knew they must get it out of their systems right now. Their eyes locked together. "Hoagie?"

"Kuki?"

"I hear Wally might've had feelings for me."

"Talked to 'im several minutes ago. He did, but it's gone now. He told me it's okay."

"I did da same with Abby, just to make sure."

Everything was now officially clear to them both. "Should've approached Cree first, if she weren't busy right now. But I believe I'm past all that."

"Well, I've had my share." Kuki took on a peculiar voice tone. "Do you like me the same as I do you?"

Both stared at their laps and smiled timidly. "Yeah. I can't hide it anymore." The bubbly girl smiled with stars in her eyes and transferred the look to her newfound beau. Confusion and uncertainty entered the fray when he saw her hold out her arms.

"Don't worry. I won't squeeze." The two exchanged tender hugs, practically caught up in the moment.

"Well, well," came a voice from behind. Pulling away quickly, the startled couple found the very last people they desired meeting right this instant: Kuki's parents and Hoagie's mom and grandma. The last statement had emanated from Genki's lips; all four appeared uncharacteristically relaxed today despite the children's protests.

"It's not what you think!" Kuki stammered, "Nothing bad!"

"We weren't trying to hurt each other!" Hoagie added.

The protests continued nonstop for close to a minute until Kani broke it up. "Enough of your squabbling!" His echoing voice silenced it all, the adult females looking at him strangely. "Please," he continued more calmly, huffing and puffing, "I'm in a good mood today. We understand perfectly what's going on here."

"You do?" the kids chorused.

"Sure," Genki put in, "I, Kani, and Betty were busy discussing business details you two might not care about. Lydia's along for the ride."

"Eh, not like I got anything else better to do," Lydia shrugged.

"No fooling?" Kuki said.

"Oh, of course," Betty assured, "It's plain to see you both want some quality time together alone. Who are we to interrupt?"

"Um…Grandma?" Hoagie said.

"What do **I** care?" was the response, "I guess we're all in good moods today. Doesn't look like yer being troublesome."

"Mushi and Tommy are our only kinfolk who don't know, it seems," Genki speculated, "You can tell 'em yourselves when ready; we won't…yeah." The other agreeing adults nodded.

"Enjoy yourselves!" Kani concluded as the four departed, "Treat one another well!"

"We sure will," the happy pair spoke before embracing a second time. Who'd've thought parental figures could be so accepting?

End Transmission

Note: Sorry if any material here offended those who support other couples.


	11. Rescission

Note: And so ends my C:KND series.

Things were changing all the time for most present to experience one shiny afternoon. Romantic relationships couldn't be limited to springtime alone according to the various visible couples around. Those without a sweetheart found other means of enjoyment, wasted away in grumpiness over little or no reason, or exhibited neutral feelings altogether. A certain boy, Wallabee Beetles, strolled about defying classification towards one category alone. So-called mush between a male and female wasn't the boy's concern, so he believed; he'd already revoked a previous crush. That aside, Wallabee felt at best okay until he crossed Nigel's path. "Oh, Nigel. Didn't see ya comin'"

"Hello, Wally. Have you seen Lizzie around anyplace?"

"Why, what's the fuss?"

"I wanted to show her something near this one lake today. I know we always see each other, we live close together, we do a lot…" Nigel put his hands together, sighed happily, and continued speaking in a more smitten tone. "I've fallen in love with her all over again. This feeling called love is like the intensity of an erupting volcano being chased down some narrow road by a shooting star wielding a serrated scythe yelling at the top of its lungs…"

"Okay, buddy," a disturbed Wallabee interrupted, "Nice imagination. I get the picture."

Nigel snapped back to reality. "Thank you. Anyhow, it feels so intense today that even one second apart is too many years from my standing point."

"Yeah…wanna talk about…I don't know, radios?"

"Not today. So, that mean you haven't seen Lizzie?"

"Did someone call me up?" At the sound of her voice, the two boys faced an oncoming Elizabeth Devine in Wallabee's direction of procession. "Hi, Nigel!"

"Ah, Lizzie," was the answer, "Am I glad I bumped into you today. Or did you bump into me?"

Lizzie shrugged. "Either way. Hope you're up for adventure, 'cause there's something I wanna show you around a lake near Gardenia Park."

"What a coincidence. That's what **I** had planned. You still thinking the same?"

"If you mean in a secluded grove of wild huckleberry shrubs, with a couple as cute as us, great minds think alike."

"Enjoy yourself, Wally," Nigel said after taking Lizzie's hand. Confusion and minor vexation swirled inside the marooned loner's head while watching the departing lovebirds. But Wallabee just shrugged and pressed on reminding himself all over that such sentiments didn't matter. Then again, one couldn't be too sure about his behavior.

In a separate suburb not far ahead, Abigail Lincoln unknowingly strolled his way feeling no more joyous. Similar emotions concerning the surrounding romance made her all but gag as well. She too had given up past apparent crushes and now resented the very notion for reasons nobody yet knew. And despite that the two oldest members of their KND sector hadn't previously agreed on much, today without a doubt changed the status quo. Abigail soon abandoned her own hope for possible respite upon meeting another familiar face. "Kuki."

"Hey, Abby. Nice day outside, isn't it?"

"Sure is. Stop a bit and talk with me."

"I'm sorry, I can't right now."

"Wha's da hurry?"

"Love, silly." Kuki sighed happily and wrung her oversized sleeves. "It seems like only yesterday dat Hoagie and I confessed our feelings to each other. Now I know what real love means."

Abigail looked unnerved. "Right. You told Abby dat too many times already, and it was yesterday. Wanna talk about…uh, stuffed pillows shaped into snails?"

"Old news! What time is it?"

"Beats me. Ain't got a timepiece handy dis time. Oh, right, I can jus'…" Suddenly, a bell sounded off two times from a clock in a nearby house whose window happened to be open. BONG! BONG! Whereas Abigail felt amused, her next words alarmed Kuki. "Heh. Sounds like a clock struck two."

"Uh oh! If I don't find Hoagie soon, we'll never…never…!"

"Never what?"

"Oh, yes, we will," an arriving Hoagie spoke, his and Kuki's eyes filling with stars through meeting each other's gaze.

"Hoagie!"

"Kuki!"

The two quickly embraced – much to Abigail's chagrin – but pulled apart soon after and stood hand in hand. "So, what were you happies up to today? Jus' curious, tha's all."

"We don't know yet," Hoagie answered, "Just thought we'd walk around a bit and see what comes up."

"How 'bout you?" Kuki returned.

"Eh, same story. Abby hasn't anything else better ta do herself."

"If you say so," Hoagie concluded, "Bye." Following farewell exchange, the second loner continued her walk, pondering current events. Lizzie's unofficial admission into the core group stirred less expected arousal, but ever since Kuki and Hoagie became a couple, nothing was the same anymore. Only the two oldest had no sweethearts; neither needed be alone in that aspect. What did it matter anyway? And yet, why an urge to question something they might be missing out on?

New surroundings didn't much help the two, either. While entering a suburb connecting their chosen separate locales, Wallabee and Abigail's annoyance only increased at the sights. Am I the only one here who doesn't need this junk? both thought. Someone must've planned a practical joke: Sweethearts as far as the eye could see flaunted lush emotions without trying. There existed no escape from the display. Wallabee and Abigail shielded away the sight, but not so much that they couldn't see where they were headed. Both stopped suddenly, face to face and uncertain about this acquaintance. All previous experiences fighting side by side as KND operatives stood no chance perhaps against buried memories according to withdrawn bearings. "Uh, hello Abby."

"Hi, Wally." All other sounds seemed to recede into the distance as they conversed. "So, you feelin' messed up over da neighborhood's mood also?"

"Funny. Can't remember the last time we agreed on somethin'…or can I?"

"Tha's fine by Abby. Bye."

"See ya in the soup." The two passed one another without question or disturbance. Although it seemed an average enough conversation, neither could shake off other feelings.

"Could it be?" both wondered to themselves, only to shake their skeptical heads.

"No way," Wallabee muttered, "Who am I fooling?"

"Wouldn't work anyhow," Abigail muttered, "Not after what happened years back."

The night came quickly with little fuss. The sextet enjoyed dinner in the clubhouse, feeling grateful for nicer days ahead bringing them closer together than ever before; the adult/kid conflict damaged everyone too much. Nigel, Hoagie, Kuki, and Lizzie waited patiently while the other two came up to the dining room with pizza, breadsticks, hot wings, and fruit juice in hand. "We're back!" they chorused, setting it all down. Nobody could beat them in digging in, and they couldn't beat each other.

"Oh, am I ravenous," Wallabee declared.

"Where are all dese agreements comin' from?" Abigail wondered.

Whereas the two oldest devoured without question, it greatly bothered them that everyone else wanted to talk instead. "So, did you two do something fun?" Kuki began.

"Yep," Lizzie answered, "Had the same intentions without knowing it. We frolicked some around huckleberry shrubs growing by that lake near Gardenia Park and even discovered a small patch of wild strawberries hidden inside."

"Pass me another breadstick," Wallabee requested.

"And how about our new couple?" Nigel asked while fulfilling the last request, "Did you have fun?"

"You better believe it," Hoagie spoke, "It started by going to this patch of thick grass growing by one of the city's many nearby exits. We just sort of strolled through and then excitedly turned it into a running frenzy."

"Hot wing," Abigail called for, which Kuki handed over.

"Anyhow," Hoagie continued, "We got all covered in grass, but it was worth it."

"Next slice," Wallabee demanded, with which Nigel again followed through. But as the conversation continued, the four lovers grew increasingly more interested in their sweet affairs than dinner; further interruptions would only irritate them.

"Nigie, did I ever tell you that you pull off the bald look nicely?" Lizzie said.

"Yes indeed," was the reply, "Right when we stepped inside."

"Then I'm overdue. You pull it off nicely."

Her boyfriend blushed. "Well, you look quite lovely yourself." Nigel couldn't get enough of Lizzie's supplementing smile.

Kuki and Hoagie began their own romantic playfulness as well, the former removing the latter's pilot's cap so they could both lovingly stroke each other's hair. "Breadstick, please," an annoyed Abigail asked for, provoking annoyance but receiving the foodstuff anyhow. "Do dey hafta do dat right now?" she muttered.

Two more seconds of such preceded Hoagie's next announcement directed toward the other couple. "By the way, I got some good news for us all."

"Do tell," Nigel said.

"An indoor carnival is being held somewhere downtown," Kuki put in, "Cute couples get in for free."

"I know where this is going," Lizzie chimed, "A double date, I take it?"

"You bet!" Hoagie responded, "And it all starts late afternoon tomorrow. We just gotta figure out where it's happening and the exact minute."

"Are you with me, Nigel?" Lizzie playfully asked.

"Are rubies the most valuable gems?" he returned.

"How 'bout a refill?" Abigail and Wallabee chorused, holding out their empty cups and thereby disrupting the happy sentiments.

"Would you two please stop changing the subject?" Kuki returned.

"You're welcome to join us," Nigel added despite annoyance, "Even if you don't have dates and must pay up." While the others resumed talking, the outcasts growled under their breath and filled their own cups. But continued talk over lovey-dovey made them start cracking up. Would nothing else occur to the others right now? What about dinner?

"That's it," Wallabee at last decided, "I need some exercise." And he left for his quarters.

"Abby's lost her appetite," Abigail decided, following suit.

None noticed their empty places until Kuki focused their way. "So how was your day, Wally? …Abby?"

"Where'd they go?" Hoagie asked.

Nigel listened hard enough to pick up soft thumping noises in Wallabee's room. "Well, no prizes for guessing Wally's current whereabouts."

Lizzie glanced in another certain direction. "How much you wanna bet Abby's the same?"

Having made their way towards Wallabee moments later, the abandoned quartet found him pounding away at a punching bag. He saw them inch their way closer but just as quickly continued. "What's up?" Hoagie asked.

"Nothin' much," he answered, disguising his irritation, "Just burnin' off this energy."

"You sure ate and drank a lot," Kuki said.

"My point exactly. Abby and I sure got carried away there. Well, can't keep exercise waiting."

The four then happened by Abigail's room, the girl in question just relaxing on her seat and staring at her bedroom door. "Somethin' up?" she asked.

"One moment you and Wally are chowing down like crazy, next you leave before we're done," Lizzie explained, "What's the deal?"

"Abby's jus' got a lot on her mind, is all. Now she's gotta let this meal digest slowly. You all go on ahead, I'll be okay."

The quartet stood there in short silence until Nigel picked up. "Um, okay. Have a good night." They weren't quite sure what to believe or make out but let it go for now all the same. Too bad they didn't pick up shared disgusted expressions on the two's faces that said, 'I think it's obvious I'm not needed around'.

Mid-morning the following day saw another soothing walk for Abigail toward urban surroundings. Seven times already she thought someone must be trailing her but just ignored it. However, upon reaching the nearest traffic light, the quiet girl – noticing the tops of two familiar heads poking out from behind an isolated bush – decided eight was pushing it. So she walked towards it and just stood firm, tapping a foot impatiently and crossing her arms. "Okay, you two. The game's over."

Admitting defeat, a determined Kuki and Lizzie got up off their knees. "You found us," the former admitted.

"Excellent," Lizzie added, "Now how's about an explanation?"

"Abby ain't readin' ya."

"You can't fool us," Kuki said, "We know it's something more than just a break from that yummy meal. Why don't you tell us why?"

"And why don't the rest o' you go on back to yer little worlds." Lizzie and Kuki appeared shocked, as that hate-hinting retort sounded nothing like the Abigail they knew.

The feeling was unsurprisingly mutual inside the treehouse. Having stood in Wallabee's way on the path towards the television set, Nigel and Hoagie had received a similar response from him after asking the same thing. "You sure are rude," Hoagie commented, "But then again, you always were a rude person."

"I don't care," Wallabee shot back, "I like being rude."

Nigel abruptly decided enough was enough. "Wally, we're all friends here. Friends should be able to discuss their problems with one another. What's yours?"

Discuss problems with one another, huh? Sounded funny coming out of the bald boy's mouth, considering his past inabilities and such. But Wallabee all in all found himself in agreement. "What's my problem? What's my problem? My problem's that I'm the only one who hasn't grown soft with what's been goin' on lately. Except fer Abby, but oh well."

"What?" Hoagie wondered.

"I'm the only one around here who doesn't need that…crud."

It didn't take long to figure this one out, yet it also did. "Oh, I get it," Lizzie solved, "You're jealous of the rest of us. You're jealous that you don't have a lover."

Abigail shook her head in remorse. "Nice joke, Lizzie. Tha's a good one."

"Who said I'm joking? I mean it, you are jealous."

"Ooh, she's jealous," Kuki teased, followed by giggles.

"Give me a break," Wallabee said, "Do I look jealous?"

"Yes," the other two boys replied in unison, receiving another quizzical look.

"Oh, sure," Wallabee continued, "I'm jealous of a bunch of softies."

"Sorry, Wally, but it's written all over you and Abby's faces," Hoagie disagreed, "That look can only originate from someone who happens to be jealous of others with something great."

"What part o' 'give it a rest' don't you understand?" Abigail questioned, "If you think we're hooked on anybody or – as if – each other, you got another thing comin'."

"Eh, we don't know," Kuki teased, "You two seem very secretive."

"That don' prove a thing. Jus' because we worked on da same team an' so on doesn' mean anything more. Y'all're crazy."

"Why not?" Lizzie asked.

In their respective locations, Wallabee and Abigail could hear a pin drop. Buried memories resurfaced again though they'd rather forget them. "What?" Hoagie asked, noting his friend's shocked face, "All I asked was, 'Why not?'." Two simple words for each child: When was the last time somebody asked them that question? The quiet girl couldn't rely on cooking gallimaufry this time, and the blond boy hadn't Razorfang or any other small beast to speak with. Escape rendered impossible, both let out probably the saddest sighs before releasing some of their deepest emotions yet. Criminy, did the quartet receive more than they bargained for.

Abigail and Wallabee used to be better friends than their recent days as members of the Kids Next Door suggested. During their preschool days, after moving to a town separate from the sextet's current residence, the two met at a fall harvest celebration. Both of course were livelier and cheerier at the time, ready for an amusing opportunity whenever it came and to make new friends. Their first actual acquaintance began on a hay ride where someone drove a wagon upon a designated path. They'd picked spots next to each other and played a game with their hands while enjoying the ride. Come the end, young Wallabee and Abigail accidentally fell onto the floorboard in a pile but thankfully sustained no injury since it happened to be padded with loose hay. Instead, the two laughed it off and made this newfound friendship official.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't last. No one knew how exactly it happened, only that it just did. A month into what older scholars used as summer vacation, both discovered they'd be moving again. The anxiety must've done something; both children somehow ended up in a rumble that would later destroy what spirit they exhibited. Both now boasted attitudes of brooding loners that at least didn't hurt familial relationships. Abigail and Wallabee somehow managed working together in Sector V alongside Nigel, Hoagie, and Kuki though the memory of their infamous spat remained. Such also explained why they now revoked admittance to having crushes on anyone.

"That's some story, Wally," Nigel sympathized, "That's some story."

"Yeah, well, what's it matter?" was the reply, "What's anything matter? I don't need that mushy stuff, and I'm sure she doesn't either."

"That explains a lot," Lizzie noted, "I never would've guessed in all the years of human advancements."

"Hope yer both happy now," a resentful Abigail said.

"Not really," Kuki spoke, "Which one of you started it, and why hasn't dat one apologized?"

"You both always gotta be right. Especially you, Kuki. Anyone ever tell ya dat yer a spoiled brat who gets away wit' everything?" And with that, Abigail departed the scene.

"Wait!" Kuki called, "Don't be mean!"

"Just let it go," Lizzie advised, "She doesn't want it."

"But…but…" However, Kuki's stammering must cease at Lizzie's shaking head.

"Why not talk your problems over?" Hoagie asked, "If not sweethearts or friends – real friends – then you could at least be neighbors."

"Yes," Nigel agreed, "Adult or kid, holding grudges isn't healthy. Whoever started it, one of you should finish it."

"Life is bad enough as is," Wallabee snarled, "But now you gotta go snoopin' into my personal feelings? And for yer information, I don't know or care who started it. Our differences are settled." The blond boy then took leave from the treehouse.

"Wally, hold up!" Hoagie protested.

Nigel blocked the pilot with an arm. "Let it go, Hoagie. It's his choice."

"But…friends help friends."

"And friends don't force things on friends. They'll come around when they choose." Hoagie only groaned.

The two loners yet again stood at separate locations around town near mid-afternoon, contemplating the morning's incidents. One part of them said the others had no right practically nagging for a sob story. That part insisted the memory remain forgotten, although sharing it was probably inevitable. A simple preschool trauma no doubt explained why the two oldest hardly ever got along together regardless of examples to the contrary. They had their kindhearted moments during KND days: Abigail sharing her candy stash with the rest of Sector V, Wallabee included; teasing one another over past feelings for anybody else, particularly the boy to Kuki and the girl to Maurice; Wallabee handing Abigail back the fake louse-infected hat the Delightful Children gave…the list went on.

In any case, a deep sigh from both children indicated that they may as well follow their friends' suggestion and get it over with. Finding one another proved difficult since (A) neither found the other at the usual places or much of anywhere and (B) both kept unwittingly passing each other by. Wallabee at last noticed a quiet apartment building and so deemed it suitable to climb up. By the time he reached the top, Abigail followed suit missing him one last time and ignoring the sneaking bullies a short distance back.

Wallabee stood vigil by the ledge, observing everything ahead and below. Something about aerial views invoked an indescribably soothing feeling he too welcomed. Other than repelling some little girl he saw on the sidewalk who resembled that same brat who'd before shredded Tube-zilla, everything looked perfect. "Alright then," he said, eyes searching about, "If I were Abby, where would I go?"

"Except, ya ain't me," came Abigail's voice. With the boy turning to face the girl, both children felt not as much surprised as they did awkward. Abigail sat down next to Wallabee on a nearby rectangular stone block, something unwavering burning deep inside each young individual. The conversation began neutral. "Fancy meetin' you here. Abby was gonna use dis rooftop ta spot ya a mile away ta talk about somethin'."

"Funny. I thought it was the other way around. But like Nigel and Hoagie hinted, I guess I can't keep still forever."

"So, you got bothered too, huh?"

"I shoulda just knocked myself out. Who cares why we fought back in the day, right? Ain't our differences settled?"

"You read me like a book, dweeb."

Spiteful feelings supplemented interesting motions. "Oh, a dweeb, am I? At least I'm honest about my mistakes. I ain't the one layin' the blame on others so much."

"Yeah, well, I'm not da one rushin' into a situation without usin' my head. Actually, Abby's not da one buildin' lame machines and barkin' up orders, angry as a rusty tractor on a bad hair day."

"You didn't hafta joke about a clam cannon, yet you did anyway. All you an' the others did was laze around on yer rears with me bein' the only one concerned over the attacks. You wouldn't be second-in-command if not fer me."

"Good point. Except, Abby's earned herself time and time again enough privilege ta take on exotic missions. She's traveled da world while you've been stuck babysittin' hamsters." (Unbeknownst to either, while they conversed, the aforementioned bullies climbed up the same way and hid behind a nearby utility box to listen.) "Did I mention my many victories?"

"So what? I done good, too."

"Through flukes. My rank as a KND operative is sky-high while you can't reach the height of da average thumbtack."

"Whadda flukes matter? We all won a fight through the simplest things one way or another. How'd Nigel beat that giant turnip, huh? And how'd you manage takin' out all those lice?"

"Flukes're still more your thing, Wally. The rest o' us got more actual victories than you, who forgot his coconut allergies dat one time. And it ain't da only occasion Abby keeps remindin' ya 'bout stuff."

"Well, you would've let Leona plunge to her death had **I** not reminded you what the Kids Next Door are about. And didn't you provoke the Poorly Dressed first?" By now, the two might collapse from lack of breath. Recalling his acquaintance with Razorfang, Wallabee deemed procedure pointless; his shaking head indicated he'd go ahead and just let Abigail win since he already acknowledged his doom. "I give up. Yer absolutely right."

The girl appeared perplexed. "Run outta bits an' pieces, eh?"

"Why bother continuing? It's not like you, the others, or my family understand me anyway. Everybody's got somethin' special goin' on except me. I'm amazed you and the others didn't throw me outta the Kids Next Door sooner. Yer a great spy, and ya do get ta travel around."

Moods eased on both sides now as lost preschool spirit started to rejoinder. "So, I got me a li'l fan?"

"I haven't been this emotional since…well, le's just say a short time. No joke, Abby: I'm jealous that you're so good at…everything. You've led me, Kuki, and Hoagie in straight lines while **I** nearly got us killed once. Hey, you even impressed the villains, especially Stickybeard. The only one that takes me serious the most is that dumb Toilenator…or maybe…anyway, I'd do anything fer that kinda glory."

"Ya don' say. Still, mine and da others' lives ain't no more apples and cherries than yours. You can't tell Abby you don't remember our experiences in early elementary school. She won't lie about makin' friends wit' you; losin' an early friend weighed heavy on her heart, but seein' Cree turn bad pushed it. You never had evil family members."

"Just ta let you know, Joey doesn't look up ta me. He's ashamed ta have such a useless older brother."

"How da you know fer sure?"

"Instinct."

The two paused a short while to contemplate everything and meet each other's gazes. To think they'd held back so much their entire lives, all because of one simple squabble with little or no cause. One of the earliest friendships on both sides, shattered in the blink of an eye. What a predicament. "Y'know, Wally, I think you're a lot smarter than you realize. And believe Abby when she says she don't tell just anyone dat."

"I know, Abby. It's just that sometimes I don't do well under pressure…er…well, certain forms. Can't top it all."

"Uh huh. It's obvious da one thing you lack is patience. You could impress many wit' yer hidden thinking capacity if you only took da time."

Wallabee lightened up a bit more. "Ya don't say. Well, you don't gotta keep denyin' yer mistakes and pokin' so much fun at others. Me, especially."

"Understood. And I still ain't so sure about yer brother Joey. Surely he can't be ashamed; should siblin's not love one another?"

"You mean like you and Cree?"

"…Right. Me an' Cree."

That's when the main point of this whole meeting came to fruition. "Whatever happened long ago, it no longer matters. Abby, I'm sorry fer hurtin' you bad. I musta been so upset over losin' one o' my first friends ever. Movin' away so soon, I thought I might not see you again, and…well, you know the rest."

"Sure thing. Yeah, Abigail's also sorry. She didn' wanna move again too soon an' risk losin' an early friend forever either, but dat was no excuse for her actions. Hope you can forgive me jus' da same." Wallabee nodded yes; a following, shared sigh indicated long-awaited relief at laying the spat to rest. Never again would such a burden weigh them down. "In a way, Abby's glad the others bothered us about it."

"Me too." With a newfound calm atmosphere, the duo balanced between exchanging glances and admiring the view ahead. "I guess we have done much fer each other several times over, even after our fight. Everybody on our team, especially you, has backed me up a lot. Usually without tryin', but hey."

"Likewise. Dat clam cannon incident: You were da only one concerned. Abby's consideration fer dat mess did land her as second-in-command later. And, Leona would've died if you hadn't convinced me ta change my mind." Another short silence preceded the conversation's next installment. "Uh, jus' between us, whadda you think about dis romantic business deep down inside? You jealous that Kuki ain't yours?"

"Nah. I wasn't jokin' when I told 'im he could have 'er. Couldn't say where I got my crush in the first place; never thought I might love Kuki as something more."

"I see."

"How 'bout you? Are you jealous that ya ain't with Maurice or Hoagie?"

"Nothin' ta say 'bout da last one. As for Maurice, well…I seemed a bit jealous at first, but I got over it. A relationship only matters as much as happiness. But in truth, d'ere's only one boy I know I've ever really loved."

"And there's only one girl I've ever really loved."

Both stared face to face and concluded together, "And I'm lookin' at him/her." (A/N: Like I need to tell you who says 'her' and who says 'him'?)

A new stage was set at this unexpected confession. Both immediately stood up to further the staring. Wallabee swept back his bangs while Abigail tipped her cap, each noticing stars forming in the other's eyes. Uncertain mouth lines dissipated into tiny smiles. "Never thought I'd ask you of all people, but…do you wanna be my boyfriend?"

Abigail blushed at her words whereas Wallabee stuttered. "I…I…I think it'll work out W-O-N-D-E-R-F-U-L-L-Y spells 'wonderfully'."

With tiny giggles, the two headed back the way they came but stopped short when those two hidden bullies – one boy and one girl – blockaded their path. "Ooh, how touching," the female mocked.

"Aren't you both too young to be dating?" the male added.

Wallabee and Abigail exchanged determined looks. "Tag team?" the former offered.

"Yer on," the latter accepted. And one simple punch sent each bully flying against the roof floor by the power box. The new couple dared not say how long their temporary adversaries would remain stunned because they had more important things to do.

It was a big surprise for those not already clued in to see a least likely couple enter the main square hand in hand. But drawing from their skills and such, why bother disrupting it? Their other friends showed it off plenty occasions within a few days; now the two oldest must have a turn. "Wait'll the others hear everything," Wallabee noted, the pair standing at a crosswalk, "Their I-7-Q-P-Z will pop."

"Their what?" Abigail asked.

"Eyes." The confused girl eyed her new sweetheart not knowing what to make of it until she saw a wiggling smile form on his face and got the joke, joining him in laughter. Such playfulness continued while crossing the street. "Guess I'm still a lousy speller."

"You can' fool me anymore, shorty."

"Shorty? You callin' me shorty? C'mere!" Laughter increased as Abigail ran the rest of the way with Wallabee on her tail, much to everybody else's perplexity. They continued running in a circle around that sidewalk square, unable to stop or contain themselves just yet. No one bothered stopping the two from constantly getting one another in a headlock and exchanging noogies until Wallabee soon noticed something. "Wait a second!"

"What now?"

"Here they come." The two oldest stood up and brushed themselves off just in time to make their friends' acquaintances.

"We saw it all," Hoagie informed, "You two sure look like yer having fun."

"Unbelievably," Abigail explained, "I'm sorry fer lotsa stuff. Sorry I was rude dis mornin'. We thought about what you told us and had a chat."

"And it all worked out," Nigel concluded, "You're forgiven."

"Yep," Wallabee said, "I also apologize. Not the easiest thing of our lives."

"That's okay," Lizzie assured, "Nobody ever said it would be. We too apologize for hurting you both in many ways." The other three nodded.

"And you're a cute couple now!" Kuki declared, "Still wanna join us for da indoor carnival? We found it."

Abigail faced Wallabee and grabbed his hand again. "At ease, Bee."

"All the way, Gail," he returned.

"Bee?" Nigel wondered, "Gail?"

"Pet names," the two oldest stated. Without further cares, all three couples proceeded toward the carnival. Abigail eyed Wallabee at one point, who noticed her looming shadow and returned a smile. A perfect ending to a perfect story: Everybody within this sextet had someone; an old grudge finally died; and the stars would no doubt smile on them all in years to come.

End Transmission


End file.
